Away to Me
by Crysania
Summary: Gold lives on a sheep farm on the outskirts of Storybrooke. He has always managed on his own until a car accident. Fellow sheep farmer David Nolan sets out to find someone to help Gold and stumbles across Belle French. She starts just doing odd jobs around the farm, but takes a keen interest in his relationship with his sheepdogs and so he takes her under his wing.
1. Chapter 1

It has been exactly two weeks, three days, and some four hours since he returned from the hospital, ankle shattered, life in shambles. He knows this because everything changed the day of the car accident. He had only been going out for a small trip to the nearby town. It was an easy drive for him, one he made often enough that he barely had to pay attention to the road. It was especially scenic on his way into town, the drive down out of the rural area he lived in a beautiful reminder of just why he chose to live in the middle of nowhere, Maine.

He had always loved it here, far from the rest of humanity on his small farm. It was quiet, peaceful, the kind of place one could escape to and not see another soul for days unless he wanted to. Gold was that kind of person. Oh, he wasn't the sort who needed the peace and quiet for something like meditation. He wasn't one of those yoga loving yuppies one met in town. People didn't like him. And he didn't like people. In town, people pulled their children away from him, warned them of his temper, warned them not to cross paths with him for fear it might anger him, warned them that he hated people and was best left alone.

He was near-legendary in the small town. Places like Storybrooke, Maine were well known for their gossip. It was small, less than a thousand people inhabiting the town and the surrounding area, and any goings-on there were passed along like a bad game of telephone. His need for everything to be exact to his specifications had morphed into unreasonable demands. His terse conversations had morphed into outright screaming matches. It would be almost amusing if he cared one bit what the townsfolk thought of him.

But he didn't.

He _was_ a misanthrope and he was quite content with that. He had his small farm, his sheep, and more importantly, his dogs.

Gold had been raised on a farm in Scotland by his aunts, tough old women who had somehow made a go of something that was generally a man's world. His mother had died in birth; his father had abandoned him to her sisters when he was just a toddler. He barely remembered the man and what he remembered was not particularly good. His aunts tried to speak kindly of him but he had heard the whispers, knew the things his father had said about him. And he knew he was unwanted, unloved. His aunts had raised him well, despite his father's disappearance, and he had grown up…well, if not well, at least adequately.

He had learned to spin wool into yarn from his aunts. Hand spinning the way they did had gone out of style hundreds of years ago, but his aunts rejoiced in the strange pastime and so he had learned to love it. He would spin long into the night at times, letting it calm his mind. It wasn't a bad life, not really at least, but he had grown up poor in harsh conditions, a small boy tormented by abusers and bullies. He had much to forget during those early days.

He still did.

And then the accident. The day had suddenly turned cold, the rain turning to freezing rain while he was out at the store. He had picked up a few necessities, stopped at a nearby farm and picked up a few extra bales of hay, and headed home. He never saw the patch of ice he hit, the wheels of his truck losing traction quickly and sending the vehicle spinning off the road into a tree.

David Nolan, his closest neighbor and fellow sheep farmer, had apparently found him. He had been making his own careful way home when he noticed the skid marks, the tracks going off the road. David was a much larger man than Gold, tall and muscular while he was small and slight, and he had pulled him from the wreckage before calling for an ambulance.

Gold had woken up some time later in a haze of pain and confusion. No one was at his bedside and he had only vague memories of what might have landed him in the hospital. He was trying to get up, planning on leaving, when the nurse rushed in and none too gently pushed him back down on the bed.

_You can't do that Mr. Gold. I'll just go get the doctor._

Oh, he had raged at her. And she had cringed away from his somewhat bleary and incoherent anger before leaving to find the doctor in question. The man who arrived, Whale if he remembered the name right, had explained in succinct, dry terms what had happened to him. His ankle had been caught under the dashboard, twisted, the bones shattered. They had put it back together as best they could. Surgery had apparently taken hours. It would take months to heal completely, painful physical therapy twice a week, and even then it would never be right.

No one had come to visit him while he was recuperating in the hospital, which was just as he expected, frankly. He had no friends, no family. His aunts had died many years before. And his son…well…he had spoken to him on the phone once the strongest of the medication they had him on had worn off. His ex-wife, who lived several states away and generally tossed the boy on a bus to go see his father when it was time for a visit, had refused to allow him to come. There was no one to take care of him while he was in this state and so he had to make do with the phone call. It wasn't enough. It was _never_ enough. He had fought tooth and nail, with everything he had, to keep his boy with him. And all he got was a few weeks in the summer and phone calls in between.

They had called him an unfit parent. He lived in a remote area, spent most of his time with his dogs and sheep, had a temper and nothing, apparently, to offer the boy except his wealth. And wealthy he was. He had turned spinning into an art form, creating yarn that was sought the world round for its beauty and strength. He had woven a handful of rugs himself and they always sold for thousands. His financial advisers, and he had several of those, had wanted him to expand the operation, get a larger farm, more sheep, stop the hand spinning. He had ultimately brought more sheep into the flock, increasing the size of his flock to about thirty hardy sheep. But he had refused the rest. And doing so had made him a very rich man.

He was a recluse, enigmatic, unknown to even the people who lived in the nearby town. The town being a nice place for children to grow up hadn't been good enough and so his son, Baeddan, had gone to live with his ex-wife and her new beau in the suburbs of some city in Ohio.

After his recuperation in the hospital, David Nolan had shown up to bring him home. He wasn't exactly a friend, but he was certainly the closest Gold had. Nolan was a fellow sheep farmer, focusing on meat instead of wool as Gold did. He had a fairly large farm, a hundred head of sheep or so. It kept the man and his wife, a rather unassuming school teacher named Mary Margaret, busy. But it didn't stop Nolan from stopping by the Gold farm on occasion.

So it was no surprise that he had been the one to find him after the accident and not exactly a surprise that he showed up to help him home. When they had arrived at his farm, he found his dogs excited to see him but well-fed. The sheep had been taken care of. Nolan had wanted to take no money from him, but he knew that they were expecting their first child and money was always an issue when it came to children.

Gold didn't do it for the Nolans. They tended to be a nuisance. He did it for the child. David Nolan had been unable to refuse in the end.

Gold had been making do ever since Nolan departed, refusing all help from the younger man in handling his farm. The dogs could take care of bringing the sheep in to him as they always did. They might have to take on more of the work, with his still being on crutches and finding it difficult to get out to the field. It had thawed a bit after the last ice storm and the path out to the field was a mess of soggy grass and mud. The crutches consistently sunk into the ground and after one attempt he had given up. Sending the dogs out made the most sense. They were used to working closely with him, especially Taz.

Taz was his prize. Taz was his best friend. When he curled up on the couch in the evenings, glass of Scotch in hand and a good book on his lap, Taz was next to him. Bigger than most Border Collies, he was a classically marked red, white stripe down the center of his face, white at the tip of his tail, and hair…a lot of hair. He stood out amongst the other dogs and Nolan had often commented on the big, bold dog. Unfortunately for Nolan, Taz would have nothing to do with him. The dog kept his own counsel, preferring to stick close to Gold. He was the only dog allowed in the house in the evening. The rest stayed in a small heated building off the barn, bedding down together.

All together he had six dogs. Taz was the most experienced of the lot and the oldest. The youngest was just nine months old and not yet started on the sheep. But she hung out with the older dogs and she came from good solid stock. He had no doubt, based on the pup's eye and focus that she'd make a fine sheepdog. Her training was put off for now, postponed until Gold could get back out there.

Everything was postponed. Everything was a mess.

That day he had headed out to the barn as he usually did. He had found a method that, while not easy, allowed him to feed the sheep with minimal trouble. Of course, he had refused all help during his recuperation time. David Nolan had offered. Time and time again, really. But his refusal had been quick and sharp.

It didn't stop the man from stopping by on occasion, of course. David Nolan was nothing if not a complete nuisance. He stopped by with some excuse at least twice a week. And then he'd insist on _helping_, even when Gold consistently told him to get lost, walked away, ignored him.

Today Gold grabbed the feed bucket that he had altered for his purposes. It had a strap that he had fashioned that allowed him to sling it over one shoulder while still making his way, slowly, to the feed troughs. It wasn't the easiest thing to do, requiring balance that he didn't entirely have in his injured state. He still had some bruising around his ribs that made it especially painful. But he gritted his teeth, filled it, and slung it across one shoulder.

He hadn't taken more than two steps before his right crutch hit a rock and bounced away from him. He had felt at least somewhat steady under the heavy weight of the bucket and the crutches, hadn't been expecting it. As soon as it was out of his grip, he put all his weight on his right foot, the injured ankle twisting further and pitching him forward.

He had no hope of regaining his balance in that moment. Landing hard on the ground, he rolled away from bucket as it came down on his already bruised side. He hissed in pain, the damaged bones held together by metal sending pain shooting up his leg as it crumpled underneath him.

He had no idea how long he laid there dazed on the ground, the sheep coming closer and eating the feed that had scattered as the bucket rolled away from him. Taz was nearby and slunk closer as the dust settled to curl up at his side. It could have been minutes. He suspected it was longer. He tried to get up, but the crutches had been thrown away as he fell, and his battered body protested when he tried to roll over to crawl to them.

He had finally managed that much, rolling over onto his hands and knees, breathing hard from the additional aches to his already bruised body, worried that he had done even more damage to his ankle.

"Mr. Gold?"

He snarled something incoherent. Nolan. Of _course_ Nolan would come and find him in this state. He had told the man something like twenty times that he was _just fine_. That he needed no help. That he could do this on his own.

"Gold!" The younger man came rushing to his side and he cringed slightly, looking up at him with a smirk to hide the pain.

"Why hello there, Mr. Nolan." He tried for his usual sarcasm, but the words were edged with a pain he hoped the other man did not sense. "It seems you've arrived at a fortuitous time. I've found a new way to feed the sheep." He waved a hand at the animals around him, still scrambling to get whatever they could out of the bucket and the feed strewn across the floor. It was chaos in the barn with him at the center of it all.

"Really?" David Nolan didn't sound exactly impressed. Nor did he sound like he believed a word of it.

"Indeed. So if you just head on out…"

"No"

"No?"

Nolan shook his head and stepped closer. Taz got up and moved away, leaving Gold alone on the cold hard floor. The younger man held out a hand to him and Gold just gave it a sneering look. "Just _take_ it," the other man said. "There's no dignity in trying to get up on your own. You were in an _accident_. I'd be in the same place if it happened to me."

Gold snorted. But acquiesced nonetheless. He wasn't getting off the floor without some sort of help, after all. The younger man handed him one of the crutches and between that and the hand pulling him up he managed to get himself righted. It hurt like the devil and he tried not to show any of that pain on his face. Nolan was perceptive, however. The man was not the smartest one he'd ever met, but when it came to reading people, he seemed to have a knack many in the business world would be jealous of.

Gold hated that that knack meant he could read _him_, especially when it came to any sort of weakness. But here they were. "Come on," Nolan said. "Let's get you back to the house. You need to put that ankle up."

It was slow-going, making their way back, but together they got him into the house and into the recliner that he favored on nights he liked to relax. Nolan left briefly to finish feeding the sheep and locking up the barn, but returned all too soon.

"You need help around here."

"No."

"You…"

"My scotch." Gold waved his hand at the sideboard off to his right.

"What?" He would have laughed at the furrow between the man's brows if he wasn't in so much damned pain.

"I need a glass of scotch if we're going to have this conversation."

The other man nodded and fetched a tumbler and the expensive Single-malt Scotch he kept hidden in the sideboard. He rarely drank, though he found he craved it more after the accident than before. It numbed the pain and moreover, it numbed the memories.

Taking a sip of the fiery liquid, he sighed. "I do not want any help around here."

"What if I hadn't come over?" Nolan challenged him with. "You could get someone in who would be able to do the heavy lifting, feed the sheep, muck out the barn."

Gold was loath to admit that he was probably right. It had been a struggle since he'd come home. And it would be at least another couple weeks before he could put any real weight on the ankle, probably a few months before he could walk without the cast or a brace. "And who, exactly, is going to come and help _me_?" The words were said on a slight sneer, some of the bite gone. The pain and scotch were getting to his head.

He smirked as he realized Nolan had no answer to that. Well, none but the obvious. _No one_ would be willing to come to the farm and help out with the chores, not even if he paid extremely well. There wasn't one person in town who would be willing to risk his wrath to come up to the place. He suspected he could offer the person some fifty dollars an hour and he _still_ wouldn't get any takers.

"I'm sure someone…" Nolan's voice trailed off and the words were met with another smirk from Gold.

"Tell you what. You go to town. You offer people one hundred dollars an hour to come up here and take care of some basic chores every day. The person would need to muck out the stalls, put down fresh bedding, feed and water the sheep. Perhaps two hours of work a day, seven days a week. When it's worming and shearing time, I'd need their help a bit more. See if anyone takes you up on that."

No one would. Not even the thought of making 1400 dollars a week would tempt one of the townsfolk up to his place. He knew this. David Nolan knew this. He saw the man start to speak but held up his hand.

"Ah yes, there will no doubt be multiple people clamoring to come up here for such a thing. Working for the monster on the hill? I can imagine the townsfolk will be most anxious to do that. I'm not sure how I'll ever interview so many people." He waved a hand around him as he spoke.

Nolan stood up. "I'll find someone, Gold. You can count on me." He took a step toward the door.

"You'll understand if I don't see you out." Gold's voice was dry as he spoke.

"Of course."

And then Gold was left blessedly, and painfully, alone. It would be another rough night spent in his recliner.


	2. Chapter 2

Belle French collapsed onto one of the stools at Granny's. It was only her third day working at the pharmacy with Mr. Clark, but she was simply exhausted. She was used to study, long hours spent poring over books as she researched, hours alone in a little room trying to piece together the various threads of history. Stocking things in a pharmacy, asking "can I help you?" several times over the course of the day, and standing around waiting for something to happen was not _really_ her stock in trade.

"Can I get you something?" She sat up a little higher and smiled at the young woman who approached her.

"Something that doesn't require much effort to eat," Belle said with a bit of a sigh.

"Long day?" The other woman leaned over the counter, her lanky body bent at a slightly odd angle to do it. She was tall, much taller than Belle's short stature, with long dark hair and a brilliant smile.

"You could say that," Belle responded with. "I'm working at the pharmacy."

"With Mr. Clark?" Belle nodded. "How do you stand listening to him sneeze all day?"

Belle found herself chuckling at that. Mr. Clark seemed to have allergies that _nothing_ he did kept under control. She watched him take allergy medications like it was candy and still he sneezed on and off all through the day. "It is kind of gross, isn't it?"

"It is. I hope he doesn't sneeze all over the merchandise." The other woman gave a slight shudder. "I'm Ruby, by the way," she said and stuck her hand out.

Belle shook her hand lightly. "Belle. Belle French."

Ruby cocked her head to the side. "You're the new girl."

"I am," Belle confirmed. She wouldn't exactly say she was running away but, well, she was. When her father fell ill she had to leave her schooling to take care of him. They had moved to near Storybrooke, Maine to access some specialized treatment at a nearby hospital. He would be staying there for quite some time and so it was up to Belle to settle into the area, find a job, and help pay for his treatment. Working in a pharmacy wasn't _quite_ what she had in mind but it seemed the area was small and the jobs scarce. She was lucky Mr. Clark even offered her that much. Everyone else in town had been wary at best and hostile at worst.

"Not so easy being new in this town," Ruby said and Belle was thankful to have someone who at least commiserated.

"Were you new at one point too?"

Ruby shook her head. "Lived here my whole life. We just don't get many new folks here. This really isn't a place people come to."

"I can imagine that." Small town life wasn't what Belle was used to. She had grown up in a large city in Australia, had landed in a large city in the United States when she was twelve, had spent all of her time in cities that never seemed to quiet down. This was her first experience with small town life and so far she was somewhat less than impressed. "But I have a part time job at least. It's better than expected."

"Ruby!" came the call from the other room as an older woman stuck her head out. "You'd best get back to work." Belle could hear the growl behind the voice, but could also hear the affection.

"Granny," Ruby said and the affection behind _her_ voice was evident as well.

"Yours?"

Ruby nodded. "She's run this place as long as I can remember."

"Ruby!"

"Coming Granny!" she said with good-natured exasperation. "So the soup of the day?"

"Perfect. And maybe some hot cocoa?" Ruby rushed off and Belle slumped against the counter. She hadn't exactly made a friend, but at least she had found a friendly face. She was staying at Granny's Bed and Breakfast for now and Granny, Ruby's grandmother apparently, had agreed to give her the place to stay for only a small amount. She was a kind woman who seemed to know when someone was in a bit of financial trouble. As long as Belle washed her own bedding, she could stay there for only fifty dollars a week. It ate into her paycheck, certainly, but she could never have found something so cheap anywhere else.

Ruby brought her the soup, which turned out to be a rather generous portion of a delicious vegetable soup, along with some crackers and the hot cocoa she had requested.

"I put a bit of cinnamon on the top," she said as she set them down. "It seems almost everyone in this town likes their cocoa with cinnamon."

"That's an odd trait," Belle murmured and then Ruby was off about her business.

She did have to admit that the cinnamon gave the hot cocoa a bit of an extra flavor that was most welcome.

Soon people started to trickle into the diner and she watched from her perch on the stool. Mr. Clark came in, along with a large group of men who seemed to be best friends. All around the same height, not much taller than Belle, really, they were a good -natured, if loud, bunch. She couldn't help but smile and waved briefly at Mr. Clark before he settled into a booth with his friends.

A group of young girls came in, typical teenagers, loud and excitable and squealing about something or other. Following them were a sedate elderly couple who came and sat down at a booth near the front. It seemed Granny's brought the town together, from the young to the old, and Belle liked that. In the cities she lived in, people kept to themselves. There were places that the elderly went, places the younger folks went and rarely did they mix.

But not here. The town was small enough that Granny's appeared to be _the_ place to go. And even Belle, outsider though she was, felt somewhat welcomed there.

A man close to Belle's age and his heavily pregnant wife entered and she could see them looking around in dismay. The place was simply packed and getting more so all the time. There were a couple seats next to her however and so she waved to the couple, who gave her an odd look for a moment before noticing she was pointing to the seats next to her.

The woman managed to push through first, people giving her a wide berth and good-natured ribbing.

"Thank you," the woman said as her husband helped her into the seat at Belle's right. "Eight months pregnant doesn't make any of this very easy."

"I'd imagine not," Belle responded with.

"I have to say I can't wait to pop this one out." The look she gave Belle was somewhat sheepish. "Sorry, you don't need to hear pregnancy complaints. You were nice enough to offer me a seat and I should simply say thank you and order my food. That's what David would say anyway."

"Indeed," her husband said as he sat down. "Let's leave the poor girl to her food before you start talking about Lamaze class or something."

Belle simply smiled and turned back to her soup. She was nearly done but it wasn't late, just a little after seven, and she wasn't quite ready to go up to her room yet. It was peaceful, true, and she had several books waiting for her, but there was something about being in company that she was enjoying for the moment.

"So no one?" she heard the pregnant woman next to her say and glanced at the couple from out of the corner of her eye.

The man with her, David she assumed, sighed. "No one. I've been all over town and had absolutely no one interested."

"He can't keep on the way he is."

"No. He can't. I can only do so much, but he needs help up there. But you know this town." There was exasperation in the man's voice and something else. Something Belle couldn't quite identify.

"They're all afraid of him," the woman confirmed. But that wasn't what Belle heard in his voice. It was almost…respect? A kind of companionship? She didn't know who this _him_ was they were talking about, but she thought that David actually liked the man.

"Exactly." He sighed. "But he's hurt. I found him collapsed in his barn today. He'd lost his crutches and ended up face down in the dirt."

"I bet he loved that." The woman's voice was dry with sarcasm.

"It went about as well as you could imagine."

"David, you can't keep helping him. He doesn't _want_ your help." The woman put a hand on his arm.

"I know," David said, running his hand through his hair. "But he needs it. And unless I can find someone to help him, I'm going to have to keep lending a hand."

"Which is not going to be so easy when the baby comes," the woman pointed out.

"Pardon me," Belle said, turning the couple. "I'm sorry. I couldn't help but overhear you. Are you searching for someone to help this person?"

David turned to her and gave her an assessing look. "Actually, yes."

"Oh David, you can't send her to him," the woman said and put her hand her husband's arm. "He'll eat her alive."

"Who is _he_?" Belle asked.

"Mr. Gold," the woman responded and looked away from her. _Mr. Gold_. The name didn't sound too intimidating, really. She imagined some doddering old fool, dragging around his crutches and shouting at anyone nearby, the crotchety old guy telling the kids to get off his lawn.

"Mr. Gold? He doesn't sound too bad."

"Well, he is," the woman interrupted with.

David reached out a hand, touched her shoulder, the small steadying touch that Belle had always admired between long-established couples. Admired and envied, really. Her longest relationship had been approximately six weeks with a fellow student. And they had never had any sort of real connection. He had been popular, admired by all the girls. And Gaston, star quarterback, always got what he wanted. He had set his eyes on Belle and for a time she felt flattered. Before she realized he was just an oaf who was heavy on the muscle and light on the brains.

"He's not _that_ bad," David said. "He's just a little ornery, is all."

"A little?" his wife shot back.

"Mary Margaret, you know he's hurting after…"

"He was always that way, David."

Belle found herself rolling her eyes. "So what is this help he needs?"

David leaned a little closer. "Gold owns a sheep farm up on the hill. You might have seen it on your way into town?" When Belle shook her head he continued. "Well, anyway. He was in an accident a couple months ago and just returned home. He needs help with basic chores. Mucking out the barn, feeding the sheep and dogs."

"Dogs?" Belle perked up a bit at that. "I've always loved dogs."

"Don't," Mary Margaret said, a warning to be sure.

"Yes, dogs," David said and shot his wife a look. "He pays well," he added.

"How well?" If it was anything more than minimum wage, she'd take it. She didn't even care what she had to do or who she had to work with. Her father's medical bills were somewhat overwhelming. Keeping him in the hospital, the constant copays, the tests and procedures. Her minimum wage job would only cover a little bit of that with nothing left over for herself. She _needed_ something more.

"A hundred bucks an hour."

"What?" Belle blinked. She had to have heard that one wrong.

"I told you he was bad news," Mary Margaret muttered. "You don't pay someone that much unless that's the only way you can entice someone to work for you."

"I actually think it was a bit of a dare." David laughed a little with it and Belle just shook her head. Mary Margaret was trying to paint him as the town ogre. David sounded like he actually like the man to some degree. Belle had no idea what to think. "Look, I can get you an interview with him if you want one."

"Oh, I would. Please. The only thing I've found is a part time job at the pharmacy and that's just minimum wage work. I'll do anything he needs."

"He'll love that," she heard Mary Margaret mutter and even Belle was starting to feel exasperated at the other woman. She didn't know this _Mr. Gold_, but it didn't even matter. One hundred dollars an hour. For that amount of money there wasn't much she _wouldn't_ do.

* * *

><p>"He's going to eat her alive," Mary Margaret said as they made their way home from the diner that evening. "You know he is."<p>

"She's the only person who didn't balk at working for him." David was trying to be helpful. Gold could be a handful, that much he knew perhaps better than anyone else. But there was also a core of _something_ deep inside the man that told him he wasn't quite as bad as he wanted people to believe.

"But you can't…"

"I'm going to. If she meets him and then refuses to work for him, then that's her choice." But he somehow knew she wouldn't refuse, something he was thankful for. He suspected the young woman he met might just be good for the old dragon.

"Fine, but when she comes crying to you because he's done something horrible to her, don't say I didn't warn you."

David just smiled at his wife and gave her a kiss as he helped her into the house. "I'm going up to see Gold. Tell him the good news."

"I almost want to go with you," she said and shook her head. "But not even watching him blow a gasket is worth that."

David left then, still grinning. Mary Margaret was wonderful. He loved her with everything he was, though their relationship hadn't always been quite so stable. They had met when he was married to someone else, marriage that was heading down the tubes before they even crossed paths. But he had instantly been drawn to her and that had created so much friction within the town that they had contemplated leaving for a time.

But then Mary Margaret got hired on to teach.

And they got married.

And little Emma had come along.

And somehow the town forgot.

But David still remembered that during those harrowing months where it was just him and Mary Margaret against the world, Gold had had his back. Not in the usual way. But he had picked up things in town for them, made sure that baby Emma got formula when Mary Margaret was ill. He had acted like it was nothing, but David had had a bit of a soft spot for him ever since.

He knocked at the door and waited. There wasn't a sound from inside, though he could see lights on. He worried. He could admit that much. The last time he had come up here he had found the man sprawled out in the middle of his barn with sheep loose all around him. He was just stepping off the steps to the front door when it finally swung open.

"Do pardon me for the long delay, Mr. Nolan," came Gold's voice from behind him. "It seems I'm not moving quite so fast these days." David turned back to him, noticed the sardonic twist to his lips and tried not to roll his eyes.

"Can I come in?" he said and crossed his arms over his chest.

"I doubt I could keep you out," Gold said and stepped back slightly. "You know the way to the living room."

David stepped around him and made his way to the room, watching Gold's prize sheepdog rise at his intrusion and find a spot across the room, about as far away from him as he could get. Truth be told, the dog had never liked him and Nolan never could figure out why. Maybe he had a bit of Gold's orneriness. Mary Margaret had been up to the house as well and had yet to have the dog approach her.

Gold didn't bother explaining. He just said _That's Taz_ and left it at that. Sometimes it was easier not to question the man.

"So what can I do for you, Mr. Nolan?" Gold said as he made his way slowly into the room and slumped down in his favorite chair. There was already a tumbler of whiskey at his side and several bottles of pills, some open, sitting next to it.

"Are you mixing pain medication and alcohol?" He didn't mean the words to sound quite so incredulous, yet they slipped out anyway.

"You are _not_ my father." Gold sounded highly annoyed and David tried not to smile. He was like an angry cat sometimes, all hissing and spitting. "What are you doing here?"

"I found someone interested in working for you." He watched the other man's eyebrows rise at his news.

"Really then? And how exactly did you convince this person to show themselves up there? Did you lie to him or is he somehow completely unaware of who exactly I am."

"New to town," David muttered. He didn't correct Gold's mistaken assumption that the person he was hiring was male. He was sure that Gold expected some large oaf he had stumbled on in town. Even David hadn't realized quite how small Belle French was until the woman had jumped off the stool and raced upstairs in excitement. She couldn't have been more than a couple inches over five feet, smaller even than the Gold, who David towered over. She didn't exactly _look_ like the type to do a lot of heavy manual labor but, well, she was all he had at the moment.

"Ah, so you somehow managed to sucker some poor young man into coming up to meet me." Gold pulled a pill out of one of the bottles at his side and chased it down with whiskey. The look he gave David just _dared_ him to respond to it. Wisely, he chose not to rise to the occasion.

"Actually, no. It was more like a volunteer thing." Desperation was more like it. He didn't know her story, but the desperation was obvious. And when he brought up the hundred dollars an hour. Well, he could _see_ her making the calculations in her head. He had no idea why she had landed in Storybrooke, but he was thankful he had that much to offer Gold.

"Desperate, is he?" Gold set down his tumbler and steepled his fingers together.

"You look like you should be offering up an evil cackle," David pointed out.

"Perhaps I should be," Gold said with a slight smile. "So this person…"

"Interview tomorrow?"

David smirked. Despite Gold's insistence that he didn't want anyone up here to help, he was a practical man. He'd accept the help. Or at least, he would if he could convince him that he needed Belle French. How he was going to do that was quite beyond him at the moment. "A little after nine?" He had told Belle he'd pick her up at nine. She had her own car, a beat-up old hatchback that had definitely seen better days, but she didn't know the way to Gold's and he was certain he'd need to be there to mediate once Gold got a good look at the petite woman.

"Excellent. I look forward to meeting this young man." David was sure he heard a bit of sarcasm in his voice. "I assume you can find your own way out."

"Of course." Dismissed, David turned and left Gold to his pain medication and whiskey. Tomorrow was going to be one hell of a day.


	3. Chapter 3

David arrived at just a few minutes after nine to pick her up. When she crawled up into his truck, he a look she couldn't quite decipher. "What?"

"Your outfit…"

She glanced down at what she was wearing. She certainly wasn't dressed for mucking out stalls or feeding any of the animals, but she was dressed comfortably in a pair of conservative slacks and a heavy knit sweater to ward off the cold. It was almost mid-March, but Maine still had a chill in the air and Belle wasn't quite used to this kind of cold. "I was always told to dress a little bit better than what you're expected to wear at the job."

He eyed the heels she had chosen. She _liked_ her heels and even if it wasn't possible to wear them on the job, she would any chance she got. Belle was tiny. _Very_ tiny if you listened to everyone else. Just barely over five feet tall, the heels at least put her on somewhat the same level as most of the women she met.

"He's going to hate me, isn't he?" Belle finally managed to ask. David glanced over at her as he started up the truck and drove off.

"Not at all." She could hear the laugh behind the words. "He's going to _love_ you."

"I brought a change of clothes," she pointed out.

"Well, always best to come prepared."

"Why do I feel that you're humoring me?"

David shook his head. "Never. He'll be impressed that you're prepared."

"Will he?" Belle tried so very hard to not sound concerned, but she was. Very concerned. This job could mean the difference between proper care for her father and nothing. It meant a chance to get ahead, maybe even save a little bit for herself, get her own apartment, _something_. She had butterflies in her stomach and the lack of nice things said about her potential employer made it all that much more difficult for her.

"He's going to love you," David repeated.

Why did Belle get the feeling that there was absolutely _no _sincerity behind those words?

* * *

><p>"No." The door had opened, the man behind it had done little more than look Belle up and down once before trying to shut them out.<p>

David stuck his foot out, catching the door before it could close on them. "You haven't even spoken to her," he pointed out. The man behind the door glared at him, brown eyes narrowed on the much taller man. There wasn't much to Mr. Gold, really. He was a small man, not much taller than Belle in her heels, thin. His shaggy greying hair fell across his furrowed brow as he glared at the pair of them. There were deep grooves over the bridge of his slightly-hooked nose that made it obvious he wore this expression often. He seemed a dour man, unhappy and angry.

"Get out." He leaned against the door and attempted to use his crutch to dislodge David's foot.

"Oh please, sir," Belle said. "David was nice enough to bring me all this way."

"The least you could do is meet with her," David pointed out.

"I have. And I say no. Now…"

"Wait," Belle said.

"Oh, I'm sorry," Gold suddenly said and she was amazed to see the furrows melt off his face, leaving behind softer lines. He leaned a little toward her, took one step. David backed up slightly to allow him the space. "You seem to be languishing under the impression that I care."

His face went hard again as he smacked David's foot with one crutch and slammed the door in their faces.

For a moment the pair stood there, stunned. "Well, that went well," David said.

"Oh yes," Belle responded with and couldn't help the slight laugh that bubbled up from her. "Very well indeed."

David reached out a hand and touched her shoulder briefly. "Actually, it went better than I thought it would." He sighed as he stepped off the porch and waved her along with him.

"Well, that says a lot then, doesn't?" She'd never had such a short interview. Not that she had had many in her life, but even Mr. Clark had spent more time with her before deciding she could work at the pharmacy. The jobs she had been turned down for had been based on long interviews that eventually led to a better candidate getting the job.

There _were_ no other candidates from what David and his wife had said.

"Wait." Belle stopped in her tracks and looked back at the house. He was stuck, she realized. No one wanted to come up here. But _she_ wanted to come up here. Ornery or not, she could deal with him. Rushing back, she pounded on the door.

It took a few moments, but the door finally swung open. Gold's eyebrows rose. "I thought I…"

"I'm the only one you've got." The words rushed out of Belle's mouth. She was. She knew it. She had at least this much leverage over him. "So if you don't at least give me a chance, what are you going to do?"

"I'll do it all on my own." The words were nearly snarled at her, accompanied by a baring of teeth.

"On crutches?" Belle crossed her arms over her chest.

"I am _fine_. Which I have told Mr. Nolan any number of times." He looked past Belle at the other man. David still stood off the porch behind her, watching. She glanced at him briefly. By the slightly open-mouthed look, she was fairly certain he hadn't expected her to push Gold this way. Good. Let them all realize that she couldn't be pushed around. She might be small. But she was also desperate and desperation led to her doing rash things on occasion.

"Are you?" she shot back. "I understand you had some difficulties the other day and that's why David was searching the town for someone to help you."

"No," he muttered. But it was easy to tell that she had gotten the better of him in that moment. "Miss…" He waved a hand at her.

"French. Belle French." She stuck out her hand and he simply looked at it, but made no attempt to reach out and take the proffered hand.

"Why don't you come in then?" He turned away from her, gripped the crutches in both hands and made his hobbling way into his inner sanctum. Belle glanced briefly at David and watched as he shrugged. Taking a deep breath, she turned to follow Gold, but almost ran into the man. He turned, raised one hand toward David. "Why don't you make yourself useful, dearie, and look in on the sheep?" Then he walked off once more.

She was more certain than ever that he was damned near desperate for help, though something told her he would never admit to that much. It made it all so very fascinating. She was desperate but trying to act somewhat nonchalant about it all. He was desperate and trying hard not to appear that way. Maybe this would work if they simply kept to their separate acts.

He waved her into what appears to be his living room. The place wasn't comfortable, at least by her standards. An older couch that was beautiful, but with a rather hard surface. Antique clocks and knick-knacks covered many of the surfaces. It was crowded yet everything seemed to have its clear place. But Belle had never been the most graceful person. She had once taken a dance class and somehow managed to knock over three of the other girls in the class before the teacher had excused her. She had broken her ankle in high school just by slipping off the edge of a sidewalk.

His place frankly made her worry about even moving and so she sat down, perched on the end of the couch and waited for him to situate himself.

"So Miss French…"

"Belle," she pointed out. "I hate being called Miss anything." She tried to smile at him, but the look on his face was so serious that her smile simply dissipated before it could properly form.

"Miss French," he repeated and she had to stop herself from rolling her eyes. "Exactly why _do_ you want this job?"

"I thought that would be rather obvious."

"Considering this is a job that calls for a fair amount of strength?" He waved a hand at her. The intent of his words was obvious.

"I'm stronger than I look." He gave her a rather assessing look, one eyebrow up. "You're not that much bigger than I am," she pointed out. For a moment he stared at her and she wasn't sure if he was going to snarl at her or simply toss her out on her ear.

And then he laughed.

It transformed his face entirely. The deep furrows that formed between his brows disappeared and she noticed that he had laugh lines for the first time. There was something there, some layer she was just seeing peeled back a little. Drawing himself to his feet, he hobbled over to her, the crutches bearing most of his weight, and held out his hand.

She stared up at him, eyes wide, uncertain. "Come Miss French. I don't bite." She waited one more moment and then put her hand in his, allowed him to draw her to feet. He was close to her when she rose, perhaps a little too close, his eyes intense as he watched her. "Well, not that often at least."

A shiver went through her as he dropped her hand and hobbled away. "Let me show you the barn."

She caught up to him, put her hand on his arm. "So I'm hired?"

He turned back to look at her and she quickly withdrew her hand. "I didn't say that." As she followed him out of the house and across the dirt walkway to the barn, she had to stop herself from rolling her eyes _again_. She had a feeling that would be fairly common around him.

She was hired. She knew it. He knew it. But she would play his game. Any game really. If it netted her a hundred dollars an hour she'd go to work for the devil himself. She'd do the chores in the nude if she had to. Ok, maybe not _that_. But she would work hard, as hard as she needed to in order to ensure he didn't fire her on the first day.

Gold led her out and around the side of the house. He carefully picked his way through the grass and dirt, finding some sort of purchase with his crutches before moving forward. It was slow going, a sort of odd processional, but she kept to his pace, hanging back, watching the man.

He led them first to the barn that she had noticed when they'd driven up. She could hear the occasional bleating coming from inside and heard the murmur of a lone voice. Gold turned back to her before they stepped inside and there was an amused glint in his eyes. "Mr. Nolan apparently likes talking to the animals."

She caught up to him then and found herself smiling back. "And you don't?"

He shrugged. "Well, not the sheep at least."

"You have other animals?" She found herself suddenly interested in what exactly he _did _have on this little farm of his.

His eyebrows rose. "Have you never been on a working sheep farm before, Miss French?"

"I probably shouldn't admit this, but I've never actually been on a _farm_ before." She sucked her lower lip into her mouth and bit down on it. She couldn't quite meet his eyes.

"Really then?" She looked up to find him studying her, as if she were some sort of interesting bug he had under the microscope. "City girl?"

"Born and bred. Sydney, originally…"

"That explains the accent," he muttered.

"I've lost a lot of it over the years." She shrugged at the words. "My Papa and I came over when I was twelve."

"And that would be how many years ago, Miss French?"

She gave a small laugh at that. "A lady never tells her age, Mr. Gold." She gave him a coy look from lowered lashes. "Don't you know that by now?"

He leaned just a little bit closer. "Indeed I do. But if you're going to work for me you _are_ going to have to fill out paperwork that tells me how old you are."

She crossed her arms over her chest. "And I suppose you're just the type to look aren't you?"

He gave a short bark of laughter and she was pleased to see those laugh lines crease for a moment. There was a sense of humor there. Somewhere. "Indeed I am."

"Over eighteen years ago," Belle muttered. "Does that make you happy?"

"Close enough," he responded with. "Come then. Let me introduce you to my friends."

She raised an eyebrow and slipped inside the barn with him. It was dim inside, lit by some high windows and a few electric lights along one of the walls. She could hear David moving about inside one of the nearby stalls, he sound of the voice quiet as he spoke to the sheep. It seemed almost sad. _Were_ these Gold's only friends? He seemed lonely, she realized, up here on the hill living in a great big farmhouse by himself. David didn't seem to be a friend so much as a colleague, a fellow shepherd, and someone who at least cared _enough_ to help Gold out.

Gold stopped briefly and allowed her to peer inside the stall David was working in. She watched him for a moment as he pushed the hay to the side of the stall and scooped up any of the excrement he found there.

"Not too appetizing, is it?"

She turned to look at Gold and scrunched her nose up. "I can handle it."

He nodded and waved her away from the stall. "I have about thirty sheep, sometimes a bit more, sometimes less. Many more during lambing season, but we won't be doing that this year." She saw him grimace slightly and she had a good feeling _why_ he wouldn't be doing such a thing. She didn't dare ask.

He pointed at the three stalls she saw along the side. "They're housed in two large stalls, three when the lambs are born to give them more space." He turned to her then. "My sheep spend most of the day out on the hillside. That's where they are now. They bed down in here at night where they're safe from predators and stupid teenagers."

"Teenagers?"

"We've had some…trouble…on occasion. They set Mr. Nolan's sheep free one night. He lost two and there was a rather serious car accident…"

"Yours?" She almost clamped her hand over her mouth after the question came out. She didn't mean to ask. David had told her about his accident, or at least that he had _been_ in one. But he hadn't given her any details about what happened.

His eyebrows lowered. "No," was all he said to her question. For a moment he was silent, brooding, and then the look cleared and he waved her on ahead again. "Let me show you something else."

Belle nodded and followed him to the back of the barn. She didn't want to ask anything else about the accident that destroyed his ankle. She could see how it was twisted and even though he was healing, there was still a lot of progress yet to be made. David hadn't indicated how long this recovery was but the accident had apparently been over a month ago and he had only just come home. He'd been on crutches since he had gotten back on his feet, had a lot of painful physical therapy ahead of him, and would eventually need a cane to keep his balance. Quite possibly forever, from what she understood and she tried very hard not to feel bad for him. He wasn't a young man, but he wasn't an old one either, and having your mobility stolen in such a way had to be difficult.

Especially for someone as proud as Mr. Gold appeared to be. He was not a soft man, all hard edges and anger, and she suspected he had long prided himself on being self-sufficient. This couldn't be easy for him.

When they reached the back he unlocked a door she hadn't noticed at first. "You might want to stand back a little bit." The words were said with a slight twist of his lips.

"Why?" she started to ask, but didn't have to question it a moment more. Several dogs came bounding out of the room. One went straight to Gold. Larger than the rest, red and white, he was focused solely on Gold and immediately rushed to his side, turning to face the same direction and laying down.

The other dogs scattered, some going to explore, some rushing to Belle. She squatted down on the barn floor as two approached and allowed them to sniff her before reaching out to scratch necks. One, a young dog that looked to be barely out of puppyhood, took off zooming around the barn before racing to Belle and almost knocking her clear off her feet. "Well, he's an exuberant one, isn't he?"

She looked up to find Gold watching her, his look assessing. "She, actually. Bandit."

"Bandit?" She scratched the dog's ear, let her chew on her fingers for a moment.

"The mask," he pointed out and Belle looked closely, realizing that the markings on her face formed a sort of dark mask around the eyes.

"She looks like a Bandit," she agreed.

"Border collies."

"All of them?"

He smiled. "Indeed. The breed was developed in the Scottish border region specifically to herd sheep. They're intelligent and wise and some of the most amazing creatures on earth." His voice was quiet, almost a whisper. The lines of his face had softened and for a moment he looked like an entirely different person than the man who had slammed the door shut in her face not that long ago.

"These guys herd your sheep?" She watched the dogs as they sniffed and explored the barn and finally settled down. Most watched Gold carefully, but one or two were still curious about the woman sitting on the floor of the barn.

"Yes. Working dogs, all of them." He indicated the dog that was still crouched at his side, his intensity obvious in the taut lines of his body. "This is Taz." At his name, the big red and white dog looked up at Gold. "That'll do," he whispered and the dog went slack, the intensity disappearing in an instant.

As soon as he seemed to be released from some mysterious bond to Gold that he had, the dog stepped away, walked the handful of feet over to Belle. He watched her and she was sure that there was something intelligent, something almost human in that amber gaze. And then the dog heaved what she could only describe as a sigh and lay down at her side, head in her lap.

Gold let out a strange choking sound and Belle had to stop herself from springing to her feet. "Is something wrong?"

"I…" He stopped there and his eyes were wide. Belle gave Taz a quick scratch behind the ear before standing.

"Mr. Gold?"

"I…um…sorry…what was that?" He seemed dazed and she wasn't quite sure what to make of that

"I asked if something were wrong…"

He shook his head and met her eyes for a moment. "It seems I have severely underestimated you, Miss French."

"Did you now?" She had no idea what was even going on. Why this sudden change of heart, this strangeness.

"I did. The job is yours, if you'll have it."

She had to stop herself from squealing and instead held out a hand. "Of course I'll take it." He took her hand in his, just a light clasping together of their hands, but she felt the electric jolt down to her toes.

"Come then," he said. "There is much to discuss." He whistled to the dogs and they immediately returned to their room in the barn. Only Taz stayed at his side and as he turned to lead her back to the house, the big dog followed behind.

Belle honestly had _no_ idea what had just happened, but it didn't really matter in the long run. The job, and all that it entailed, was hers.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: I just wanted to take a moment to thank all my readers for the lovely reviews of this fic. There's been such a wonderful response to it and it just really makes me happy! You guys are all the best!**

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><p>There were times she was sure she would come to regret her the rash decision she sometimes made. That first day in the barn, not more than a half hour into her day, was one of them. Gold had brought her in that morning and produced a contract. She was to be at the barn no later than 7:00am. It was an ungodly hour but that was apparently when he turned the sheep out for the day and she was expected to begin her duties. Once she released the sheep to pasture, she had to muck out their stalls.<p>

This was what she was in the middle of doing that morning. It was barely light out and it was a struggle to see in the dim stall. "Who the hell has the crazy idea that 7:00am is a proper time to start work?" She wasn't the sort to talk to herself usually, but no one was around and she needed to vent at least a _little_. The sheep were gone and the dogs were probably still in their climate controlled kennel. Hell, Gold had probably gone back to bed, though the man _had_ been impeccably dressed, even at such an early hour.

Gold's dogs really lived it up and somehow she was surprised at that. She didn't know why. It really _shouldn't_ have surprised her. Gold was not a people person, after all. Nothing had really come of her attempts at conversation with the man. She was simply met with a stony stare and a continuation of the instructions he had given her.

And the instructions had been a bit more exacting than she thought they would be, though she couldn't say that was a surprise. Everything about Gold pointed to a sort of meticulousness that Belle tended to find annoying. His outfit was old-fashioned, tweed pants, cable knit sweater, and everything pressed perfectly. She could see the crease in pants that she suspected would be slightly wrinkled on a more relaxed man. He didn't seem like the type of person to be relaxed. She was surprised he didn't muck out the kennels in a three-piece suit.

The thought made her giggle.

At least focusing on her employer kept her moving through the morning. Though she wouldn't pretend any of what she was doing was easy.

First she had to use a special shovel to sift through all of the hay at the bottom of the stall, pushing the fresh stuff to the side and collecting anything that had been clumped up with excrement. That was discarded in a wheelbarrow that she had pushed close to the stall. Anything wet was discarded in the waste baskets nearby.

It wasn't the hardest work, though it stunk terribly. She managed to fill the wheelbarrow pretty well and set down the shovel, wiping a towel across her brow. Despite the chill in the barn, she had worked up a pretty good sweat.

Turning to the wheelbarrow, she picked up the back end of it, surprised at the weight of it all. She hadn't really considered that when dumping everything into it. She pushed it forward a foot, felt it tip precariously and managed to catch it. Her arm was wrenched backward but still she was able to keep it upright. Taking a deep breath, she pushed at it again. This time it slipped out of her hands and within seconds she had a whole new pile of manure on the ground at her feet.

"Bugger."

"Having trouble, are we Miss French?"

She whipped around at the sound of his voice and glared at him. Or at least, she tried to glare. If she weren't dressed in ridiculously baggy pants, rubber boots and probably half covered in _shit_, she might have looked at least a little bit threatening. But the reality was she probably looked utterly ridiculous. "Everything is going _just fine_," she said through clenched teeth.

He may have hired her, but she was sure he was still trying to get rid of her, prove to her that she didn't have what it took to work on his farm.

He leaned against the door-frame, the light leaving him in shadow, but she could clearly hear him offer up a chuckle. "Don't pile it so high next time."

And then he was gone. She turned to stare down at the mess she had made, picked up the shovel once more. "Well, bugger," she repeated before setting to the task once more.

* * *

><p>The girl was going to be a nuisance. A very pretty nuisance, even when covered in sheep dung and glaring at him like Satan himself had come to see her. But still, a nuisance nonetheless. There were times when he was thankful that David Nolan came up to lend a hand. And then there were the times when the damned man interfered with his life in less than pleasurable ways.<p>

He had had no intention of hiring the girl. One look at her ridiculous high heels told him exactly what he needed to know about her. She was impractical, perhaps a bit flighty, the kind of person who would throw in the towel when she chipped a nail or twisted her ankle. She probably watched daytime soaps and gossiped at the hair salon.

But then there was Taz. He glanced down at the dog, the _traitor_, that currently lay at his feet. Taz liked no one. He was the perfect Border Collie as far as Gold was concerned. Devoted to his master, aloof with strangers. He gave them a wide berth, preferring to stick to Gold or leave the room entirely when people came calling.

But not this Belle French. The dog had gone over to her, no hesitation, and put his head right in the infernal woman's _lap_. Like he was her lost dog and he had finally come home.

_Pathetic_.

And perhaps what was even _more_ pathetic was the way his heart skipped a beat when the dog had done it. It seemed he'd been without any sort of companionship besides his dogs for far too long. The woman looked up at him with big blue eyes, his dog's head in her lap, and damned if he didn't hire her on the spot. All because of his damned dog and those big blue eyes of hers.

He didn't know why she needed the job so desperately. He didn't even want to ask, afraid she might start prattling away at him about this and that. She probably wanted a fancy car or a vacation to some spot where she could traipse about in a string bikini and five-inch heels. He had been anything but friendly and any normal person would have thrown their hands up in the air and walked away long ago. He expected her to turn tail and run as soon as she laid eyes on him. But no, not this Belle French. She had hounded him until he had simply thrown in the towel and agreed to take her on.

He had never had help before. He had never _needed_ help before. The dogs did all the hard work of bringing the sheep back in and he had always been able to do everything else on his own. It was strange to have someone in the house, see her out in the barn, It was disconcerting realizing that he really did need the work. He wasn't sure his body could take another collapse like he had had the other day. He was lucky his ankle hadn't taken the brunt of it. But it was only a matter of time if he did everything on his own.

So now he had a _person_ up there and damned if he didn't even know how to deal with her exactly. Which was why he had gone to watch her, poked fun at her. A part of him even _now_ wanted to go back and watch her some more.

* * *

><p>The infuriating man had come back <em>twice more<em> to stare at her, make comments on her abilities. He just wanted to make sure she was doing her job properly. That's what he claimed. But she could tell by the smirks, by the offhand comments, that he was enjoying every moment of her struggles.

And struggle she did.

She had finally gotten all of the manure out to the pile. It took three trips instead of the one she imagined but at least the wheelbarrow didn't tip over again. It was slow-going but she had learned something that day and in a way that made her proud.

Carting the water from the spigot to the watering trough had gone just about as well. She overfilled the bucket and found it virtually impossible to carry. But Belle wasn't one for backing down from a challenge and so pushed her way through, spilling more water on herself than she did in the trough. Her return trips had been with less water each time and by the time she was done with it, her arms were shaking with exhaustion.

When she was hauling the last bucket, quite successfully she might add, Gold returned. "You're soaked."

The words irritated her and she ended up rolling her eyes before continuing with the chore.

"Why are you soaked?"

She dumped the water into the trough and only a little splashed back that time. With a triumphant grin, she set down the bucket.

"Miss French…"

She finally glanced back at him. "Why do you think?" She snapped at him and watched as his face went slack for a moment before the smirk returned.

"I never get wet."

"If you don't get out of my way, you'll have to amend that statement to 'I never got wet _before_.'" The words came out with more of a snarl than she had intended. Taking a deep breath, she met his eyes. "I'm sorry. It's been a long day." And by long day, she meant it was only a little after 10:00am, hardly late in the day. But she felt like she had been working for hours. Certainly nothing she had ever done in her life before this led to her feet aching, her eyes watering, and the muscles of her arms feeling like jelly.

"It's not even noon, Miss French," he pointed out.

She sighed. "I'm aware of that. Now if you'll excuse me, I believe there's more work for me to do."

"If it's too much for you…" He let the words trail off as he waved a hand absently in the air.

She stopped and watched him for a moment. "You _want_ me to quit, don't you?"

"Hardly…"

"No, you do. You want me to give in and tell you that you were right about me." She stepped closer to him. In the work boots she was wearing he was still only a few inches taller than her, but it was clear he was used to be intimidating.

"And where would I be if you quit?"

She made a scoffing noise at that. "Right where you were before. Alone on this little hill of yours." She almost poked him in the chest on the last words, raised her hand to do so, but finally retreated a bit. "Well, you're stuck with me. So I suggest you go back to the house and let me get to the rest of my work."

He watched her for a moment, gaze assessing, before backing up and starting to turn away from her. He paused then and glanced back at her. "Miss French." His voice was quiet as he spoke. "When you're done here, please come to the house."

And then he was gone, making his slow, careful way out of the barn. She watched him go and wondered if this was just the way things would always be with him. David had called him ornery, Mary Margaret had called him a monster. But she saw the way his shoulders slumped when he didn't think she was watching and thought that maybe, just maybe, he was a little bit lonely.

* * *

><p>She finished the last of the chores in the barn nearly an hour later. She hoped that, with some time, it would all go smoother and she'd get them done earlier. He said about two hours a day. Everything today had taken over three hours, four if she counted all of Gold's instructions. He was fairly exacting and she was certain that the job she had done that morning would not live up to his standards.<p>

But it was done.

And it was not done _horribly_ at least.

After finishing up and setting everything back where she found it, she made her way back to the house. She wasn't sure what to expect from him really. He had invited her in. She figured either he respect that she stuck by it or he was going to call her laughable at best and dismiss her on the spot.

The latter seemed more likely.

She knocked on the door and there was no immediate response. Pushing it open just slightly, she glanced in. He was nowhere in the immediate vicinity and she didn't hear any sound of his crutches. "Mr. Gold?" she called out.

"In here, Miss French." His voice was coming from back in the living area and so she stepped into the front hall and slipped off the muddy boots she was wearing. Truth be told, her clothes weren't much better. Her shirt was still wet and clung to her, her jeans were decorated with wet and muddy patches. All together she was sure she looked like a complete disaster.

She stepped into the living area and Mr. Gold looked up at her from the recliner he seemed to favor. "Have you nothing else to wear?" The look she gave him must have been just sheepish enough for him to understand. "You don't."

"I thought I'd be heading home right after."

He shrugged. "I'm unpredictable at best."

"And at worst?" she couldn't help asking.

"You'll no doubt find that one out eventually." The smirk he gave her made her want to groan. She wasn't sure she _wanted_ to see him at his worst, considering all the things that Mary Margaret had said and David had hinted at. "If you go up the stairs and enter the first room on the left. The _first_ room, mind you. And don't go into any of the other ones. In the middle drawer there are various things you might be able to put on."

"Seriously?" She shook her head slightly.

"I can't have you sitting in my living room covered in mud, now can I?"

She knew he was right about that, but still. "But…" she started to say but then stopped, stared at him and got up to trudge up the stairs.

"There's a bathroom up there you can use to change in," he said as she started up the stairs and she just nodded as she continued up. Despite her desperate need to explore the house and find out more about her employer, she stuck to entering only the room he indicated was fine. She was probably too drained to get into much trouble right now anyway.

The room was bare, just containing a bed and a dresser. No decorations were on the walls and she suspected this was a completely unused spare room. Why he even _had _a guest room was beyond her. Perhaps just to keep up appearances. The dresser, at least, was well stocked. She opened the middle drawer as indicated and found several pairs of warm, soft flannel pants and a few t-shirts. Pulling them out, she realized they were far too big for her, but at least they were dry and clean. _Wearing his clothes_. She grumbled to herself as she left the room and quickly changed in the bathroom, balling up her muddy clothes and carrying back downstairs with her.

"You can leave your clothes by the door." She returned and stood awkwardly in the entrance to the room. Gold turned to look at her and for a moment his look was entirely unreadable. His eyes were wide, one hand clenching the arm of the chair he still sat in. But then it slipped away, the mask returning. But what she had seen behind that mask was raw and a little frightening.

The whistle of a tea kettle interrupted the strange moment and Belle breathed a sigh of relief. "I'll…just go get tea?"

"If you wouldn't mind, dearie. It's rather hard to move sometimes." He sounded immeasurably sad in that moment and a part of her wanted to come closer, put a hand on his shoulder, reassure him. But she didn't. She couldn't. And so she walked into the kitchen and dug up a teapot and cups and a tray to carry them back out to the other room with.

Her hands shook as she carried the tray out and set it down on the coffee table. Her arms ached and her fingers had a hard time closing over the edges of the tray. But she made it.

Gold leaned forward. "Milk?"

"Yes please. No sugar."

He nodded and poured her a cup before preparing one for himself. She felt awkward as she sat down, wearing his pants, his shirt. She felt naked even though she was far from it. She perfectly well covered, but she couldn't remember the last time she had been in her pajamas in front of a man who wasn't her father.

Perhaps it really _had_ been too long since she had dated anyone. Her father had been telling her that. Over and over really. He had refrained from setting her up with someone but just barely. He wanted her to be settled and happy and told her often that he wanted that before he died. So he could rest easy.

"Four hours, Miss French." Gold's voice interrupted her reverie and she wrapped her arms around herself.

"It was my first time…"

"If you find it too difficult a job…" He waved one hand in the air and she was fairly certain there was a sneer upon his face.

She chose not to rise to his provocation. "Not at all. It should be easier next time."

"Indeed?" And she _hated_ the way his voice turned it into a question. He didn't believe her. Of that much she was certain. He was biding his time, waiting for her to make a big mistake, waiting for her to throw in the towel so he could laugh and mock and jeer

She wouldn't let it happen.

"Absolutely." She leaned forward, met his eyes squarely. "I'm not one who gives up easily, Mr. Gold. Haven't you figured that out?" With a small smile, she picked up her teacup. That was probably her biggest mistake at that moment. He hand was shaking, whether from nerves or exhaustion she wasn't quite certain.

But she couldn't stop it. Her fingers on the small handle of the cup slipped and it went tumbling to the ground at her feet. It hit hard, the dull thud in the room only slightly louder than the sound of her heartbeat in her ears. She let out an audible gasp and dared a glance at Gold, who was watching her with a curious expression upon his face.

She pushed herself off the chair and knelt, careful to not kneel where any of her tea was already soaking into the carpet. It was bad enough she'd dropped the cup, spilled tea everywhere. She didn't need to also get tea on the clothes he was nice enough to lend her.

And it was worse than she thought, she realized as she picked up the cup. There was a tiny piece missing. She could see it embedded in the carpet. Holding the cup up, she turned it so the chipped corner was half facing Gold. She was almost sure he'd let her go for this alone, so odd was the look on his face. "I…um…" She bit her lip, stared at the cup in consternation. "It's chipped." Still he wore that strange look on his face and so she turned the cup again, the chip facing away from him. "You can hardly see it." And if her voice was just a little bit too bright, she didn't know if he'd even notice.

He stared at her for a moment longer before finally speaking. "It's just a cup."

She let out a breath. "And the carpet?"

"Ah yes." He looked down at where the stain and spread across the surface. The carpet was mostly dark, but the occasional white spot had turned brown from the tea. "There's a special carpet shampoo. In the kitchen, under the sink."

"Right. I'll just…clean it then." She left the room then, entirely uncertain of what had gone on. He hadn't dismissed her. He hadn't even seemed particularly bothered by it.

This man was a complete and utter mystery. Something told her she would enjoy peeling back some of those layers.


	5. Chapter 5

"Can't…move…" Belle uttered the words as she tried to get out of bed the next morning. No one was there to hear them of course, but it didn't stop her from groaning loudly as she attempted to roll over and put her feet on the ground.

She ached absolutely _everywhere_. For all her insistence that she was prepared for a job of tough manual labor, she was absolutely and completely wrong. I mean, who was she kidding anyway? She was a bookworm, a woman who had gone to school for library science. She was not a farm worker. She didn't muck out kennels and get down heavy bales of hay.

There was a reason, after all, that Gold had simply scoffed at her when she had arrived on his doorstep. Not that the infuriating man was much bigger than she was. And she had complete use of both legs currently, an advantage she would happily stick to him when he complained about the speed at which she did the chores and her abilities. He could mock her all he liked but _he_ was the one on crutches not she. And he needed her help whether or not he liked it.

It gave her an advantage.

But a small one.

She finally managed to get to her feet and make her way slowly to the bathroom. Every step was agony. The muscles of her upper arms burned when she even tried to do something simple like open the bathroom door. The shower felt heavenly though, especially as she had simply fallen into bed the night before, still smelling of the stables and wearing the pajamas she had borrowed from Gold.

She had gone _home_ in the damned things and she was happy no one had seen her come in. She could only imagine the wild stories they would tell about the mysterious stranger who was staying in Granny's Bed and Breakfast and, apparently, playing house with Mr. Gold. Oh yes, that would go over _quite_ well.

After her shower, she stumbled down the stairs and into Granny's Diner to find the place already mostly packed with people. She managed to make her way to one of the open booths and fell into it with a groan.

"You ok?" Ruby asked.

Belle would have startled at the voice if she had had the energy to do so. But she didn't, so she only groaned again, putting her head down on the table as she spoke. "I ache in places I didn't even know existed."

Ruby patted her on the back and even that was almost too much for her. "Sorry," she said. "Gold didn't try anything funny, did he?"

Belle looked up at the waitress. "Why does everyone think he would?"

"He does have a reputation…"

"For taking advantage of women?" She had heard much about Gold but he was so incredibly solitary that she couldn't really imagine him playing Don Juan at the local bar.

"Well, no. Thank God I suppose. But he takes advantage of people in a lot of ways…" Her voice trailed off and Belle grimaced slightly.

"He was a perfect gentleman with me."

"Really?"

"Well, he spent most of the time insulting my work and popping up at random times to mock me," Belle said and really the truth was Gold _was_ a difficult man to be around. She had spent most of her time there angry at him for some slight, some insult, some mocking smile or tone. He was a bastard. But he seemed to be a pretty normal one.

"Ha!"

"It's not like that Ruby. I think he's lonely." And that _was_ the heart of the matter, really. He had invited her in for tea and had spoken, if not kindly, at least decently to her. He had sent her home wearing comfortable and warm clothes. He hadn't yelled at her when she had destroyed one of his teacups and spilled tea all over his carpet. He wasn't _all_ bad. Just maybe mostly bad?

"Well, he should be. No one wants anything to do with him."

Belle just shook her head. "So I'm off today..."

"You don't have to go up every day?" Ruby seemed surprised at that.

"I think he'd like me to," she admitted. "But he gave me today off to recover from my first day. _See_ I told you he's not that bad."

"Probably just trying to save money," Ruby muttered darkly and Belle couldn't help but smile.

"Is there any place to go in town that doesn't require much energy?" She had barely gotten a chance to explore the place before getting hired at Clark's and then at Gold's.

"The library?"

"Oh!" Belle couldn't help the exclamation that escaped her and when she attempted to clap her hands over her mouth, winced with the pain of the sudden moment. "I do love books."

"Well, it opens in a couple hours and isn't open for terribly long. It's run by this crazy old bat of a lady, but she keeps it well-stocked. Plenty of romance novels and erotica." Belle almost shuddered at the happy look on Ruby's face about that last one.

"I'm actually more into historical fiction."

"Well, I'm sure they have that too," Ruby said with an almost too-bright smile. "Check with Ariel."

"Ariel? Like _The Little Mermaid_?"

Ruby laughed. "Her parents were _huge_ fans, apparently. She volunteers at the library. Sweet girl. I think you and she would get along."

Belle smiled and thanked her and then was left in peace to contemplate just how many muscles could ache in a body at the same time.

* * *

><p>The library had been easy enough to find, but by the time Belle got there she had to sit down again. This simply wouldn't do. She supposed there was the whole "no pain, no gain" thing to contemplate but even that didn't make her feel better. Hopefully she would get used to this as she got stronger. But it sure didn't make it any easier that morning.<p>

She had found several books that interested her, though she opted for one and one only. She could handle carrying one small paperback book of twisted fairytales. She had also met Ariel and Ruby had been right. They had hit it off instantly, their love for books and their insatiable curiosity making the conversation flow easily.

They had plans to meet later that afternoon. A nice lunch at Granny's Diner with someone who actually hadn't flinched when she said she was working for Mr. Gold would be refreshing. She saw the way people looked at her. Rumors spread quickly in small towns and this one was no different. Already the whispers had started. What kind of girl worked for the monster on the hill, after all? Not the kind of girl they wanted to get to know.

She wouldn't say she'd been shunned in the past few hours, but people had been giving her looks, shaking their heads. One woman had gone so far as to ask if she might like a job watching her children, that surely she could find something else to do.

But a hundred dollars an hour? No. She had taken on the job and she would see it through to the end. Or to when Gold fired her. Either way, she was going nowhere.

* * *

><p>He wouldn't exactly say he was <em>drunk<em>, but…well…maybe he was just a little bit drunk. Or maybe it was the Vicodin he had taken for the pain in his knee. He had tried to go out and muck the damned stalls on his own but the fall from the other day was affecting him more than he'd like to admit.

And he'd given the girl the day off.

One day after she started working.

She looked exhausted the night before, shaking and cold. He wasn't sure that once she settled in for the night if she would actually get back up. There was no sense in working her to death. She wouldn't keep working for him if it was too much for her.

And she _must_ keep working for him. He didn't know why, couldn't even begin to analyze _why_, but something had shifted him inside him as he watched her kneeling on the carpet, her blue eyes wide with worry, a crease between her brows. She was feisty, but he could see the fear in her in that moment. He was sure she knew his reputation and he was sure she was waiting for him to simply be done with her.

But he hadn't. He had sent her home and told her to rest up and not come back until the day after this one.

So he was left to his own devices and Vicodin and a little whisky seemed like a good idea. Oh, his _doctor_ wouldn't think it was. _Don't mix this with alcohol._ He was quite clear on that one, but what harm did a little bit of the two do? He felt mellow, more relaxed than he had in awhile.

Which was why when the knock came at the door, he simply shouted at whomever it was to come in. He knew who it would be. Or well, he suspected. It wouldn't be the girl…_Miss French_. She was no doubt flat on her back at home cursing his existence and the job she had fought so hard to take. So that left only one person. No one else would invade his inner sanctum.

His eyes opened as he heard the heavy fall of boots. "If you track anything into here, I'm going to kill you." His words were slightly slurred, the intent behind them a bit blurred with his inability to enunciate properly.

"Are you drunk?" David asked and Gold met his eyes, smirked.

"Never."

"You're drinking…"

"This is my first one." He paused there, picked up the glass. "Well, the first one this hour at least."

"Gold…"

"Oh, don't you take that threatening voice with me, boy." He pointed a finger at him. "I'm in pain."

"You have medication for that," David pointed out and wasn't he just the father figure? He supposed he was getting ready for the birth of his first child, a daughter apparently.

"I'm not your child." And if the words were a bit sullen, he couldn't quite help it. He was sick of the medication, of the pain, of the inability to move about without the aids of his crutches. And a cane. The doctors said soon he would be off the crutches all together but he would need a bloody _cane_ to walk with, as if he were a decrepit ninety-year-old instead of merely a hair over fifty.

"Still…"

"I took Vicodin," he pointed out.

"With whisky?"

"Aye." He took another sip. Single-malt, a beautiful 25-year-old Talisker. Glancing back up at David he gave him a slight sneer. "Don't tell me I can't, Mr. Nolan. I'm old enough to be your father."

The other man just shook his head.

"That's not what you came here for though, is it?" He knew. David Nolan was a nosy one at times and his wife even nosier. He wouldn't call them _gossips_ per se, and in fact they were a good sight better than the rest of the town in that regard. But when it came to him, they were always there, always wanting to check in on him.

He suspected that it was because they were _good people_. And he tended to detest _good people_.

"No," David finally managed to say. "Where's Belle?"

"Ah yes, the little flower you made me hire." He waved a hand in the air.

"I didn't make you…"

"She's fine," he cut him off with. "I gave her the day off."

"You…"

Gold raised one eyebrow. "I am _sometimes_ a decent human being." There was a sardonic twist to the words.

"I never said you weren't."

He just gave him a look. He knew better. He knew what David Nolan thought of him. Though why the man continued to show up, help him, was somewhat beyond him. He had a good heart, he supposed, one that hadn't been beaten and crushed into a blackened mess like his own.

A strange look crossed David's face, something between fascination and horror. "You _like_ her, don't you?"

"What?" Gold was quick to respond. Perhaps a little too quick.

"You do." David crossed his arms over his chest. "That's why you hired her."

"There may be a certain _allure_ to Miss French," he admitted. "She's a beautiful woman…" His voice trailed off. Let Nolan think he was a superficial clod. Sometimes it was easier that way. Easier than admitting he had any sort of heart.

David shook his head. "There's more there than that." He stepped forward. "Just don't hurt her."

Gold scoffed. "Now you're _her _father?"

"I just don't want you doing anything horrible to her. I told her about you…"

"Apparently you didn't tell her _enough_ because it appears she plans to come back," Gold pointed out.

"I brought her here and insisted you consider her for this job," David continued like he hadn't just been interrupted. Gold supposed he was used to it after all this time.

"Fine," he muttered. David just smiled and didn't say another word. "Did you want something else, Mr. Nolan, besides badgering me about Miss French?"

"Do you need me to muck out the stalls?"

"No. More work for Miss French tomorrow." Gold smirked.

David shook his head. "Fine. I'll feed them though." He held up a hand when Gold started to protest. "I saw what happened the last time you attempted it on your own. Better safe than sorry."

Gold inclined his head. "Thank you."

Nolan left then and Gold breathed a sigh of relief. Just what was it _with_ that man? Sometimes he was far too perceptive for his own good and sometimes he just refused to see the obvious. Gold was a loner, a shark amongst the fishes. He wasn't one meant for relationships of any sort, romantic or otherwise. Nolan's less than subtle attempts at dipping his toe in that water were really _not_ appreciated.

_Then why do you take it from him?_

Very good question. Leaning back, he knocked back the rest of the shot of whisky, choosing to let it trace a path of fire down his throat than properly sip the expensive liquor. Drunk. That seemed like a good idea.

* * *

><p>"So what's it like working for Gold?"<p>

Belle shouldn't have been surprised by the first question out of Ariel's mouth and yet she was. They had taken up residence at Granny's during a quiet time. Ruby was wiping down the corner and giving them curious looks once in awhile. Granny was setting out the pies and occasionally whispering something to Ruby.

"Well," Belle started with but hesitated. "It's only been one day." One day of hell, if she was honest.

"Right." Ariel's voice trailed off and she pursed her lips.

"I don't think it's going to be easy."

"No?"

Belle shook her head. Easy was definitely not the word she was looking for when it came to the job she had taken on. "Well, it's a lot of work. Hauling stuff around and whatnot."

"Yes, but what is it like working for _Gold_?" Ariel gave her a look. _That_ look. The one that said _you know exactly what I mean so stop pretending you don't._ "I mean, no one really knows him. We all have this image of him in our head but it's all just rumors and speculation. He rarely comes down off that hill, you know."

"It must be lonely," Belle said. "Living up there all by himself." He holed himself up in his house, surrounded by his antiques and fancy teas and dogs.

"He has no friends?" She was almost sure she heard a sad note to Ariel's voice as she spoke.

"Well, there's David Nolan. But I don't think they're friends really. Mr. Gold seems more annoyed by him than anything." She suspected they were friendly more out of necessity than anything else, two shepherds living in the hills surrounding the little town. They had a fair bit in common, it seemed, and perhaps that was why Gold tolerated the younger man.

"Mary Margaret's husband?"

"You seem surprised at that."

"Well…I guess?" Ariel shrugged her shoulders. "Mary Margaret's such a sweet woman. She comes into the library frequently to find books to read to the children in her classes. She's expecting her own, you know. Soon I think. She looks pretty big."

"David seems like a good man. He helped me get the job, though I suspect he's probably regretting that." She said the last with a somewhat amused smirk. "But Gold? He's not so bad." She stretched, feeling the sore muscles all the way down her body, feeling the pop and crack of tendons and ligaments. "A little sarcastic, but not so bad."

In all honesty she wasn't sure she'd hate working for the man. He was certainly difficult, contrary and disagreeable as he was. But there was something about him, something lurking below the surface. She had seen the way he looked at those dogs, the way he spoke to them. His voice had softened and there had been _real_ affection there. She had found that strangely attractive, a side of him that she suspected he hid from the world.

She had, really, only known him a couple days. But she sensed that what was on the surface was not the real Gold. Not who he was deep down. Layers upon layers, she suspected. More than enough for her to peel back.

They ended their lunch shortly and Belle saw Ariel off. She had to get back to the library after all. They vowed to meet soon and with a hug, they parted. Belle stepped up to the counter and flagged down Ruby. She had been staying at the inn since she had first arrived in town, but now that she was stepping into a stable job, making a decent amount of money, she really needed to get out, stop taking advantage of their generosity.

"Gold owns most of this town, " Ruby responded with a delicate shudder. "Why don't you ask him?"

"He owns the town?"

"Pretty much," her grandmother said, stepping closer. "Even this diner."

"Is that why everyone hates him?"

Granny scoffed. "Everyone hates him because he's a bastard."

"Oh…" Belle wasn't sure how to respond to that. People in this town didn't do things in halves, that was for sure.

"Look, we have plenty of room at here for you. It's not like Storybrooke is a big tourist trap or anything." The last was said with a bit of humor but Belle could also hear the edge to it. What use was a bed and breakfast with no one to enjoy either?

"I can't keep taking advantage of your generosity," Belle started with. "Surely you can get more than fifty dollars a week for that room…"

"Fine," Granny cut her off with. "We need a little more help around here. You help out on the second shift. Do a bit of waitressing and clearing tables and you can stay at the inn for free."

Belle blinked. It would mean more money for her father, more money to set aside for herself. She looked from Granny, with her face set in a slight scowl, to Ruby who looked pleased as punch. "Ok," she finally said. "You have a deal."


	6. Chapter 6

Belle wouldn't say the rest of the week went _well_. But it went by fast at least. The first day back after her short break was the hardest. She still ached. Her whole body felt like she had been held against a brick wall while a truck slammed into her…repeatedly. She did her damnedest to hide it though. Each time Gold showed up to taunt her, to watch her work, to just be a complete and utter nuisance, she had smiled brightly, moved quickly. He went away each time grumbling and she hoped it was because she was exceeding his rather pathetic expectations for her.

And she had _no_ doubt at all that he had expected her to walk on the first day. He had poked at her, needled her and insulted her. He continued through the first week, though the remarks had gone from just plain rude to almost teasing. There was a note in his voice, a sort of strange respect lighting his eyes, that made her keep going.

But he still did try to chase her off.

He almost succeeded the middle of the day when he showed up while she was carting water and made her spill it all over the floor. Really, he took great joy in startling her, in leaving her feeling slightly off. _Oh I'm just here for the dogs_, he had said and gone on his way, using the crutches to maneuver himself around her.

He was getting more at ease with the aids, though she still saw him cast a rather resentful glare at the things on occasion. He would be off them soon and using a cane to get around and from what she gathered, he may never walk without it. Somehow she thought that probably wounded his pride.

She didn't know him, not that well yet, but there was one thing that was obvious. Gold was a proud man and no doubt being brought low by a mere car accident, requiring help, was beyond the pale for him.

She wondered if he was always like this. Difficult and acerbic.

She wondered if he had once been softer, kinder, if he hadn't looked at people as if they were bothersome.

It was late on that Friday, her final day of work that week. Gold had asked her to put in a little extra work preparing the feed for the sheep so that he could easily take care of the chore over the weekend.

They had adjusted her schedule sometime during the first week. Originally, he had planned to have her around seven days a week but it seemed he decided he valued his privacy a bit more than that. Weekends were her own, but that meant putting in more hours during the week. Mondays would be long. Mucking out the stalls after a weekend of use would be harder, but it also meant she could enjoy some time at the library and get in some reading on her days off. It seemed a fair trade and one she had accepted eagerly.

She hadn't stayed so long past noon as she did that day, making sure everything was set to rights. Fresh bedding, fresh food and water, the food doled out in small, easy-to-transport portions. When she stepped back to survey her handiwork, she was sure that she was starting to get the hang of the job.

Oh, she still ached, but she was getting accustomed to the smell and the pattern of things on the farm. With a contented sigh, she stepped out into the cool afternoon air. It may be nearing April, but the air still carried a bit of a winter chill. The wind up on the hill whipped her hair across her face and she tucked her ponytail back and into the coat she was wearing, tugged the hat on that she had tucked into her pocket some time ago.

It was desolate up on the hill, the few trees that dotted the landscape still stripped bare. Spring came late in Maine, no great rush of warm air and green grass, but instead sneaking in slowly until one day you looked around and realized that winter had finally ended.

That day the grass still looked half dead, flat and soaked with the run-off from the last of the winter snow melting. The sky was grey, not the sort of grey made up of wispy clouds of varying monochrome shades, but the kind that was flat and uninteresting, one great sea of grey hovering low over the hills. It kept the temperature warmer than it might have otherwise, but it also felt cool and damp and close.

She took a deep breath, looked out over the hillside. The sheep were high up the hill, just where they were most days when she left the farm. But this day she realized the dogs had been left out and Gold was making his way slowly toward the hill. He was a good distance from her, certainly too far for her to shout much at him with the way the wind whipped across her face. It would steal her voice away, carrying it back toward the house rather than toward Gold.

And so instead she simply watched as he finally got to the base of the hill, wind sending his hair flying around his face. He didn't bother to tie it back or put a hat on and he didn't even seem to notice it as he stopped. The dog at his side stopped too. Taz, she assumed. It had to be. The red and white dog seemed to always be at Gold's side. She wondered if the dog even slept with him and then felt her cheeks warm with the embarrassment when she realized she was contemplating his sleeping arrangements and if he slept in the pajamas she had returned to him the other day. The image was not one that found unappealing.

She was startled out of her reverie by the sound of a sharp whistle. Taz took off from Gold's side like a shot. The big dog was just a tiny speck as he raced up alongside the hill. She'd never seen a dog move so fast nor so gracefully as he flew up the left side and then turned right. Graceful. Easy. The dog moved like nothing she'd never seen.

Gold stood at the base, leaning heavily on one crutch, whistle still in his mouth. As the dog reached the center of the hill, just behind the sheep, it turned, slowed. The sheep started to move almost as one. The dog followed behind, skirting to one side and then the other to keep the sheep in line and moving. One sheep almost made a break for it. She could see it happening, the separation start. Gold let out two quick whistles and the dog turned on a dime, gathered it up, kept them moving.

It was like a dance, she realized, the dog weaving in and out, Gold's control. He was intense, hair swept back from his face by the wind, whistle still in his mouth. Every once in awhile he let out a piercing screech from the whistle, sometimes long, sometimes two short whistles. She didn't know what any of them meant, but the dog clearly did, laying down, creeping up on the sheep, moving quickly to head off any attempted escapes.

She realized it wasn't even that Gold was in control, not really at least. Man and dog worked as a team.

As the dog and sheep came closer to Gold, he lifted the crutches and started to hobble backward. It wasn't easy for him and more than once, she wanted to rush to him, help keep him up. But she didn't. She didn't move. She _couldn't_ move. And as he came near, crossed paths with her, she wanted to speak. But he was concentrating, his entire focus on the sheep, keeping the dog balanced on the other side as the dog drove them toward him. Always toward him.

She could see how it worked, at least on a superficial level. Keep moving where you want the sheep to go, keep the dog balanced at the other side and the sheep fell naturally in line. When they got to the barn, Gold stepped back and used his crutch and the aid of the dog to get all of the recalcitrant animals into their stalls and the doors shut behind them.

Taz stayed at the ready for a moment more, crouched, staring intently at the door where the sheep could still be heard, though not seen. And then Gold looked down at the dog, his lips quirked in a soft smile, unlike anything she had seen from him in the week she had been around him. He was usually all hard edges and sarcastic smirks. But this was genuine fondness and she liked the way it made his whole demeanor softer, the way his eyes crinkled at the corners just slightly. "That'll do," he said quietly and the dog relaxed its stance immediately and leaned against Gold. He reached down as best he could around the crutches he still held and scratched the dog behind the ears.

It was a tender moment.

She wasn't sure she was really meant to be there and so stepped back just slightly, tried to turn away.

"You're still here, Miss French?" His voice was soft as he spoke and she turned back toward him, bit her lip as she looked at him.

"I'm afraid so. I…um…just finished."

"Hmph," was all he said before walking off, leaving her standing in the barn watching his retreating form.

A moment later he paused. "Are you coming?"

"Of course." She hadn't intended to head into the house, but she followed immediately. Taz looped around behind her and she was _almost_ sure the dog was herding _her_ this time. She hesitated and the dog rushed forward, just a tiny bit, eyes intense.

"If you don't come along, Miss French, Taz may resort to nipping at your heels." She glanced over at him, surprised to hear the humor in his voice, to see it in the small half-smile he offered her. For that moment he looked younger, more boyish. She had an image of what he might have looked like before whatever in life had beaten him down to the hard man he had become. And then it was gone.

He dropped his gaze, turned slowly, and finished the walk to the house. She followed in silence and though he never turned to look back at her, she was sure he knew she was there not far behind. She trailed him by a few feet, allowing him to take the lead despite his halting gait.

As they entered the house, he turned back toward her and his gaze traced her body from head to toe. She shivered at the intensity of the look and then was surprised when it turned almost playful. "It seems you escaped bathing in the sheep water this time."

"I do catch on eventually," she said, equally playful. She would follow his lead. It was easier that way. He seemed skittish, in some ways an animal that was still half-feral. If she pushed too hard, he was sure to go to ground to escape her.

And she didn't want him to.

That realization suddenly dawned on her and left her reeling slightly. How odd. How totally unexpected. She _wanted_ to get to know him, figure out what hid behind the layers of sarcasm and pain. She suspected there was someone worth getting to know inside, if she could just dig deep enough to get to him.

"Please have a seat," he started to say.

She took a couple steps toward him. "Do you want me to get us tea?"

"I'm perfectly well capable of doing that on my own, Miss French." His voice was terse and for a moment he bared his teeth at her in a snarl. "I'm sorry." He took a deep breath. "I am not used to company."

"I see that," she muttered.

"Nor am I an invalid. I will be with you in a moment."

As he left the hall and she retreated to the living room, she so desperately wanted to remind him that _she_ served them tea the last time, when he had been too exhausted and probably in too much pain to get up and take care of it, that it didn't make him an invalid if he asked for help. But she let him do what he needed to. Tonight his pride was taking the driver's seat and he had relegated his practical side to somewhere in the back. His moods seemed to change quickly and without warning.

He came out a short time later and sat on the edge of his favorite recliner, leaned forward to watch her. "I underestimated you, Miss French."

She cocked her head to the side.

"I thought you'd walk out on your first day, but here you are. The end of a whole week. How _did_ you manage it?" And he sounded impressed. Honestly impressed.

"Grit? Determination? I'm not the sort to give up on things, Mr. Gold. Not even _you_ could chase me off once I set my mind to it."

He made a slight humming noise in the back of his throat as he poured the tea. When she reached for one of the cups, he smacked her hand away lightly and picked up the one she had been reaching for. The one with the chip. Her eyes met his and she cocked her head to the side. He shrugged. She didn't quite know what to make of that. "And yet I could have sent you on your way."

"Yes, well…" She hesitated over the words, not quite sure what to say. "I'm the only one who decides my fate."

"I hardly think that's how interviews go."

She let out a small laugh at that. "I wasn't taking no for an answer."

"Obviously." He pushed the hair back from falling in his eyes.

"That was beautiful," she blurted out and for a moment she wasn't sure if she meant the way his hair fell back into his eyes, the silky strands begging for attention, or if she was referring to the exhibition on the hill.

There was a slight furrowing of his brow at her words, a little cock to the head. "Pardon?"

She let out a small laugh. "Sorry. It's just…I was watching you. With your dog?"

"Ah, right." For a moment he looked almost embarrassed.

"It was this amazing dance of coordination and grace. I've never seen anything like it." There was a beauty to it. _He_ was beautiful when he was standing out there, wind in his hair, eyes trained on the dog that had been so distant and yet still so connected to him.

"It's everyday farm life, Miss French." The words were dismissive. She expected nothing else out of him, really. But she was almost sure she saw a little blush on his cheeks.

"It may be, but I've never seen it before," she pointed out. "City girl, you know."

"I never would have guessed." The words were dry and the twist of his lip a bit sarcastic. "Where _did_ you grow up?"

"Where did you?" she shot back. It wasn't that his question irked, not exactly. But she had heard it many times since moving to the States. More times than she cared to count. Some by people interested. Some by people who just wanted to insult her for her "funny accent."

"Scotland, actually. Near Glasgow." His eyes met hers and she saw the pride there.

"With a name like Gold?" He looked taken aback at that, his brow furrowing just slightly. "That doesn't sound very Scottish," she added.

"I assure you my first name is quite Scottish." She had to laugh at the defensive tone to his voice.

"Is it now?"

"It is."

"And that first name would be…" She couldn't deny that she had wondered. He had even signed the paperwork she had for the job as _Mr. T. Gold_.

He watched her for a moment. "You're from Australia somewhere."

She just raised an eyebrow at the abrupt change of subject. "I am." He waved a hand at her. "Oh you wanted to know _where_?" She leaned forward, her eyes met his and she smirked. Two could play at this game. "Tell me your name and I'll tell you where I'm from."

He leaned back in his chair. "It's not that important."

She heaved a sigh. "Fine. I'm from Sydney, if you must know. And I've spent almost all my life here in the States in other big cities." Apparently two _couldn't_ play at his game. Not yet at least. But if she opened up, even just a little, he might consider opening up to her as well.

"What made you come here? Surely you had a family and friends? So why come to Storybrooke? Why get stuck working for the monster on the hill?"

"You're not a monster," she immediately responded with and realized just how much she meant it. When he raised his eyebrows, she responded with. "You're _not_. As to why I'm here? My father." She took a deep breath. "He's dying, you see. Cancer. There's a hospital nearby with experimental drugs…"

"He's in the hospital?"

He seemed worried at that, maybe even a little contrite. She nodded, watched him carefully. "It costs a lot of money." She trailed off and they fell into silence for a time. She sipped her tea and he sipped his and she worried about revealing so much about her personal life. He didn't need to know that. No one did. As the silence dragged on, she felt the blush creeping up her cheeks. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have told you that."

He was silent a moment longer. "No," he said, the word quiet but firm. "I'm glad you told me."

"I _told_ you that you're not a monster," she pointed out and hoped he could hear the smile lurking in her voice.

"You did."

"And you're not."

"I could fire you right now."

She was almost sure she could hear a bit of light sarcasm behind the words. "You could. But you're not going to."

"And why do you think that is?" He met her eyes then and his were unfathomable and dark. He _could_ fire her. And maybe he should. She certainly wasn't adept at this sort of work. The first week had proved that. Her muscles still ached like nothing she'd ever felt and getting out of bed in the morning was an exercise in near-futility. She had to roll out, almost dump herself on the ground, just to get to her feet.

It had gotten slightly better over the course of the week, which was a good sign, but she couldn't say that she felt _good_ exactly. Just not _as bad_.

"Because you like me?"

He let out a scoffing sound.

"You _do_."

He shook his head. "You do decent work…for a girl from Sydney."

"I'll take that as a compliment."

"You are far too cheerful, Miss French. It seems life hasn't quite beaten that out of you yet."

The look she gave him was serious, mouth turned down. "Sometimes you have to choose between being miserable and being happy, Mr. Gold. I choose to be happy."

"Even if the world is falling down about your ears?"

"_Especially_ then." Her father was in the hospital, ill, dying unless the experimental drugs could save his life. She was in a new place with no real friends, working at a job with a man who was difficult at best. Life _was_ falling down about her ears. But she had picked herself up. Met people. Gotten a job that she at least enjoyed to some degree even if she wasn't all that good at it. She was _doing_ something and it kept her spirits buoyed.

Gold watched her and then finally shook his head. "Oh, to be so young and naïve."

"I am neither young _nor_ naïve, Mr. Gold." The words were clipped. "I'm simply left two choices in life. Be happy or not. It seems we've made different choices."

"We have," he confirmed.

She was not surprised to find he sounded a bit amused by it all. Setting her cup down, she shook her head. "I think it's time for me to go." She stood then and the pain of trying to stretch aching muscles almost made her fall back down on the chair. Steadying herself on the nearby wall, she couldn't help the small groan that escaped her.

"Are you quite alright, Miss French?" Gold's voice came from too close behind her and she would have jumped at the closeness if that wouldn't have caused even _more_ pain.

"I'll be fine," she muttered and took a couple steps, testing the movement of her muscles and finding she still hurt all over.

"You don't seem fine," he pointed out and she let out a small bark of laughter. "Wait here a moment," he said and then disappeared from the room. She could hear the soft thump of his crutches on the floor as he left, though she didn't dare turn her head to watch.

He was back a moment later and holding something out toward her. She took it, glanced down at the nondescript jar she held in her hands, and then back up to him, the question evident in her eyes.

"Muscle rub," he said softly. Her eyebrows shot up. "It seems that I have, perhaps, overworked you just a wee bit."

She was silent, no idea what to say to him in this moment of decency. "And so muscle rub?"

"It smells absolutely wretched but I assure you it _will_ help." His lips quirked with a small smile and she had the feeling he knew all too well how bad the stuff smelled.

"Why?"

He shrugged. "You'll do better work next week if you're not in pain."

Somehow she knew that wasn't the reason. She just _knew_. And so she stepped toward him, put her hand over his where it held one of the crutches. "Thank you." He froze under her touch, body stiffening, his hand gripping the crutch just a bit harder than was necessary. She released him then and turned to go, a small smile on her face.


	7. Chapter 7

It was the middle of the next week when Gold stopped by again. He had mostly left her alone the first few days. Monday had indeed been hard, but she was up to the challenge. The muscle rub he had given her _was_ good and while she still felt a bit achy, it certainly had made her feel a little bit more supple. She didn't feel like she was going to collapse at least. She supposed that was a start.

And she was sure she was getting stronger. It had only been a week and a half but she felt like something was _coming_ of this. She wasn't one who was used to physical labor, preferring research and books to such a thing, but she was starting to actually enjoy it. And that surprised her more than anything.

Gold stepped into one of the stalls as she was dumping water into the trough. When she turned, bucket still in hand, she nearly ran into him. "Careful," she said, a little quirk to her lips. "A little earlier and you might have ended up soaked."

"I suspect you might do that just out of spite, Miss French."

"Do you really think I'm that sort of woman?" She smirked as she said the words and was rewarded with a small scoffing noise. Perhaps he already knew her better than she thought he did. Glancing down, she noted he was leaning rather heavily on a cane. "No crutches?"

"The doctor cleared me," he stated. Leaning back he raised his damaged foot, now encased in a brace instead of the heavy cast he had been wearing.

"That's quite a fashion statement."

"Indeed." He was quiet for a moment, hands clenching and unclenching over the top of the cane, staring down at his foot, at the cane. She was almost positive that he hated the thing, perhaps even more than the crutches. There was every chance that he would spend the rest of his life using that cane and she was sure that he deeply resented that fact. "Miss French?" he finally managed to say, looking up again to meet her eyes. She nodded. "When you're done here, I'd like you to join me on the hill."

And then he was gone, his uneven gait carrying him as quickly as he could out of the barn.

He didn't give her a choice, she realized, and shook her head.

The rest of the chores went easily enough. She didn't rush. But she didn't drag either. She was curious about what he had in store for her and so wrapped up quicker than she had on the previous days. When she stepped out of the barn, she fully expected to find no sign of Gold, but he was out there already. He stood off to the left side of the hill, Taz at his side. She wasn't sure he went anywhere without the dog, really. He was always there on the farm, inside the house, constantly attentive and watching Gold, waiting for him to issue a command, use that whistle of his.

He stood near a small pen that contained just a few sheep, not the thirty-something that she had watched him control with the help of his dog.

When he noticed her approach, he turned toward her and she realized he was holding a dog in his arms. Black and white, small, probably bit more puppy than dog, it squirmed in Gold's arms. "You remember Bandit," he said and released the dog.

The dog flew out of his arms and leapt at Belle, nearly knocking her off her feet before taking off around the hill in great loops. It would occasionally almost skid into one of them before taking off again. Yes. She did remember her. She seemed to recall being almost knocked on her butt the last time she had met the overly enthusiastic dog.

"And Bandit would be…"

"Your dog." Her eyebrows rose at that news, but before she got a chance to say anything, he continued. "You're going to learn how to herd." It was a statement, not a question.

"What?" Her voice was a little more high-pitched than she would have liked.

"You were interested in it," he pointed out. "So you're going to learn how to do it."

"Why?" she asked.

"Why not?" And perhaps he had a point. Why not, indeed.

Bandit went flying past her again and she turned to Gold. "So what do I do?"

He smiled. "Get ahold of her, keep her close, and bring her into the pen." He opened the gate to the pen, using his cane to keep the sheep back, before stepping through. After a few attempts, Belle was able to get ahold of the long line that Bandit was attached to and reel in the exuberant young dog.

She stepped inside the pen and let the gate close behind her. Bandit _trembled_ at her side. She could feel the excitement wafting off the dog as she zig-zagged back and forth in front of her, desperate to get to the sheep, desperate to do _something _that perhaps even the dog didn't understand just yet. "Now what?"

He reached over and handed her a thin piece of PVC piping that was leaning against the side of the pen. She took it, held it close to her. "What am I supposed to do with this?"

"This is an extension of yourself." He took it from her, held it out in front of him. "It will give you more reach, extend your arms and, in a way, the size of your body."

"It's plumbing."

He laughed. "It is. But it's lighter weight than any crook and far better for early training." She gave him a skeptical look. "Just hold onto it. Now come. Release her. We need to see what she can do. And more importantly, I need to see what _you_ can do."

Belle dropped the line and Bandit was off like a shot. She circled around the sheep once, twice, then again. Every once in awhile she drove in closer to them and when they started to move away, she circled again. To the left, to the right, everything in near continuous movement. Belle watched, not even sure what she was supposed to be looking for. The sheep would come flying at her and she'd step back out of the way. The dog would fly around them again, the sheep would move, Belle would sidestep them. It was like a dizzying dance, not the calm one she had watched Gold enact with his dog.

"You need to stop her." Gold said.

Belle tried to grab Bandit as she flew past her but it was like attempting to get ahold of a greased pig. The dog slipped through and kept moving. The sheep skittered left then right as the dog careened around them.

"With your stick," Gold pointed out.

"I don't hit dogs."

"I'm not saying _hit_ her," he shot back. "You need to put pressure on her to convince her to stay out on the other side." He stepped past her. "Like this." As Bandit came around the sheep one more time he raised his cane and immediately Bandit turned, avoiding the cane and headed back in the direction she came from. "Now you."

Belle stepped forward and raised her stick as Bandit came around to the right. The dog simply dodged it and kept moving. On the next go-around she tried it again, no luck. Finally on the third time Belle timed the motion of the stick as she raised it and drove it into the ground in front of the dog perfectly and Bandit darted back and away from it.

Bandit ran in the other direction and Gold shouted at her to keep the dog moving to the other side of the sheep, balance them toward her. Step back. Let the sheep come to her, stop the dog from coming behind her, use the stick. His commands to her were firm and hers to the dog were equally firm.

It was all about pressure. Shepherd to dog, dog to sheep. The motion was dizzying. It was almost a comedy of errors, the dog continuously evading the stick, still racing in circles. And then one time she hesitated. Just slightly. She was out beyond the sheep and had slowed down

"Lie down," Gold said and the dog dropped to her belly immediately.

"Yes," Gold said and the word came from far too close behind her. "Watch her. She's getting it." He stepped closer to her, put one hand on her shoulder. Bandit was staring at the sheep and she seemed almost transfixed by the beasts.

Belle turned her head slightly, met Gold's eyes. "Step back," he whispered, pulling lightly at her shoulder. She went with him, backing up a couple steps. Bandit stayed still, in her down, watching the sheep. "To the left," he said and pulled her to the left a little. Gold stopped her from going any further for a moment.

"What are…"

"Walk up," Bandit immediately crept forward. The sheep moved toward where Belle and Gold stood.

She could hardly breathe. They took a few steps at a diagonal angle and watched as Bandit compensated, shooting out to her left a bit and driving the sheep forward.

"The goal," Gold managed to say, "is to always…_always_…keep the sheep between you and the dog. If you go one way, the dog should balance the sheep and move them toward you." They stepped several feet to the right and Bandit balanced them one more time

"Surely there must be more than that," Belle murmured and was rewarded by Gold's hand squeezing her shoulder once before dropping away.

"So much more," he responded with, his voice soft and devastating so close to her ear. "But this is only the first lesson, Miss French. There's so much more to come."

She nodded, trying to ignore the shiver that raced up her spine.

They continued the dance for a moment more, first one way, then the other, always just a handful of steps in the small pen. Gold allowed her to do it a few times on her own and then told her to release Bandit from her duties.

"How?"

"Bandit," he said in response and she watched the dog's eyes flick toward him for just a moment before she returned to watching the sheep. "That'll do."

One moment the dog was focused, intense, and in the next she was loping toward them with her tongue lolling out of one side of her mouth. Belle took a deep breath. "That was _amazing_."

She had never seen something like that from so close, watching as the dog caught on, as the dog started to get her job right. Bandit trotted over to her and lay at her side and it was clear the mental task had left the young dog fairly tired, but no doubt happy. She was finding her job, her place in the world.

Belle was somewhat envious. She wished she could find _her_ place so easily.

"It is," he said.

They remained quiet for another moment, before Gold turned toward the gate to the pen, leaning heavily on it as he exited. "I'll see you tomorrow?"

"You're just going to leave it there?" Belle felt surprised at that. Somehow she had expected _more._

"Of course. Dogs don't learn this overnight and neither do you." He waggled a finger at her. "Tomorrow," he said one more time and opened the gate wide. The three sheep that had been penned in darted out and immediately made their way up the hill, the draw to the rest of the herd obvious as soon as they realized where they were.

Gold walked off, Taz at his side, leaving Belle and young Bandit on the hillside. "Come on, Bandit." She made her way back to the barn and left her in the heated part of the barn with the rest of the dogs. She left the farm for the day then, not seeing another sign of Gold as she headed off.

* * *

><p>It had been a long evening at the diner. For the past week Belle had been helping out when they were short-handed or when things were especially busy. And tonight was perhaps the worst she'd ever seen it. It was a cold night, rainy, and it seemed that it had driven everyone into the diner. The place was positively packed and Ruby had begged for the additional help. Belle was tired, still reeling a bit from her impromptu sheepherding lessons, but she couldn't refuse the young waitress.<p>

And so she had been serving people for several hours that night. Her whole body ached. She was exhausted. When things finally quieted down a little after eight that night, Belle and Ruby had put up their feet, leaned up against the wall, and taken deep breaths.

"So how's working for Gold going?

Belle shook her head. "Fine, I suppose? He's teaching me how to herd."

Ruby gave her a rather cock-eyed look. "What brought that on?"

"My interest in it, apparently." She still didn't quite know how admiring what he did with the dogs translated to her wanting to become a shepherd herself, but she supposed the man was lonely and she the more time she spent with him, the more she couldn't quite shake that idea.

"Odd," Ruby said and looked up to find Granny looking over them. "Oops, back to work with us!"

The rest of their shift was mostly uneventful. Leroy drank too much and made a nuisance of himself, but he _always _did that. Granny damned near threw out Killian Jones and his crew. They were troublemakers, the lot of them. They had been caught attempting to sell stolen goods more than once and Jones himself had been caught shoplifting some pretty expensive items from the electronics store in the next town over. They were bad news, but unless they were specifically doing something _wrong_, there was little Ruby or her grandmother could do.

David Nolan stopped in and Belle was so very pleased to see him. He gave her a strange look, however, when she told him she was learning to herd and she desperately wanted to ask _what_ it was about, but the moment had passed and he had picked up his meal to go. Mary Margaret was some eight and a half months pregnant, her due date looming large, and didn't dare come out in case everything was set into motion and she didn't have anything they had prepared for the event.

Belle had just finished serving a lovely elderly couple when she turned back toward the door to greet the newcomers. "Can I help…you?" Her voice faded away on the last syllable, seeing Gold standing just inside the door. He looked a little strung out, hair sticking out on end, and he was gripping the cane like his very life depended on it. "Mr. Gold." And her voice might have sounded far more welcoming and warm than any might have imagined.

"Belle," he said and she did not miss that he had used her first name for the first time. "Miss French." He stumbled over the words. "What are you doing?"

He seemed almost offended and she might have laughed if he didn't look so damned serious. "I'm working."

"You work for _me_." The words weren't exactly _growled_ at her, but they were close.

"Yes I do." She cocked her head to the side in confusion.

"Then why are you _here_?" He pointed at the ground on the last word, emphatic.

"They offered me free room and board."

"If you work yourself to death?" And did he actually look a bit concerned over her? His brows had been drawn low over his eyes and he glared at the people in the diner. Everyone who had stopped to watch their conversation went back to eating, talking with their loved ones. But she was sure they were keeping half an ear to the conversation going on in their midst.

"I'm not."

"I will not have you working here," he interrupted her with.

Belle glared at him for a moment. "Granny," she finally called out. "I need to take a short break."

The older woman eyed her, clearly nervous. "If you need anything…"

"We'll just be outside," Belle pointed out and reached out to grab Gold's forearm. She tugged lightly and he had no choice but to go with her or risk falling over. The cane was some support, but she had just pulled him slightly off center. And so he followed, looking upset, even angry.

When they got to a more private area, Belle turned on him. "Just what do you think you're doing?"

He shrugged, one elegant move of his shoulders. He was dressed well this night, perfectly pressed suit that fit his trim form far better than Belle would have liked to admit. "You can't work here."

"I damn well can. It's _my_ life. No one controls it but me." She raised her hand to jab a finger in his chest before deciding against that and backing away from him slightly. "Not you, not my father, _no one_."

"What if I don't want you to work here?" His voice had softened just slightly.

"No dice," she responded with.

"Why?"

"Again, my life."

He shook his head and she could _see_ him becoming increasingly frustrated with her. "But why?"

"You already know I need the money…"

"I don't pay you enough?" He sounded incredulous. And annoyed. Very very annoyed. "What more could you possibly need?"

"This is about my _father_, in case you've conveniently forgotten that. Nearly every cent I make goes to his care. If I work here…"

"You don't have to pay for a room," he surmised.

"Or food," she added. Granny had a tendency to cook too much and rather than freeze it and call it the _special_ the next day, she simply tossed it into a container for someone to take. Belle had taken advantage of that several times already. When she was too exhausted and in too much pain, a quick meal she could toss in the microwave made her life so much easier.

"I have both," he suddenly said.

"Pardon?" Was he saying what she thought he was saying? It wasn't possible. Someone as private as Gold didn't just up and offer someone space in their home.

"You can live with me."

"No," she said without even thinking about it.

"There's plenty of room in the house for two people. You wouldn't even have to see me…"

"I'm not a charity case," she pointed out.

"I'm not saying you are," he shot back.

"Then?"

"You can do some light cleaning. Maybe dust, vacuum? I'm a bachelor, Miss French. Surely you can understand that I need all the help I can get."

She had been inside his house. She wasn't so sure that was true. His house had been _immaculate_. Frankly, she hadn't expected much else out of him. She started to speak but he interrupted her before she could get a word out.

"Well, despite what you may think, it would be easier for me if you did some of the basics. I don't think the dusting has happened since right before my injury."

"David hasn't been helping out?'

"Oh he has, but he refuses to put on the little maid's dress."

She let out a little snort. "Ok so let me get this straight. I work for you. You pay me. And I get to stay in a room up there for a little light cleaning."

"Exactly."

"What are you getting out of this?" She cocked her head slightly to the side, studied him. "I mean, why do you really want me there?"

He crinkled up his nose a little. "The place is filthy." And she was sure it wasn't that. He _was_ lonely. She was even more certain now than ever that he desperately needed some companionship. But mentioning it to him was out of the question. He'd deny it. She knew that much about him already.

"Alright." She was sure she had taken leave of her senses. _Live_ with the man. She couldn't even imagine how that one was going to go. They clashed wills almost every time they saw each other.

"Excellent. My car is just around back. We can go up now."

Belle shook her head. "Easy there, bucko. I have my _own_ car and it's late. I'll be up in the morning." Gold watched her a moment longer before nodding and limping off back to his car.

Shaking her head, Belle walked back inside the diner.

"What was _that_ about?" Ruby was on her almost as soon as she got inside.

"It seems I have a new living arrangement." She shook her head.

"With Gold?" At her nod, Ruby shuddered. "What is he, some kind of lecher?"

"I…" She paused there. _Was_ he? She thought of his response to her touching him, the way he froze, dropped his gaze, moved slightly away. "No," she said firmly. "I think he's lonely."

"Oh Belle, don't tell me you're one of _those_."

"One of…"

"You know the type…always sees the good in people, that sort of thing. Gold's a bastard."

Belle laughed. "I know. But this is for my father, Ruby."

"You can still stay here…"

"I'll come down to visit, I promise," she said with a small smile. "But I think this is really my best option."

Ruby gave her an assessing look. "Well, fine. But if you don't come down with some amazing gossip about that bastard, I will be _sorely_ disappointed."

Belle just laughed. "I'll do my best." The two went back to work for Belle's last night at the diner.


	8. Chapter 8

What had he been thinking? He wished he could even figure that one out, but when he saw Belle working at Granny's Diner, something inside him had shifted. He had been annoyed, but also _worried_ about her, and that bothered him far more than he wanted to admit.

He couldn't get her out of his mind.

She was, perhaps, one of the first people that hadn't shied away from him, who challenged him and called him out when he was acting like a bit of a jackass. Ok, maybe more than just a bit. He liked it. He didn't expect that, really. He had been the king of his little castle for longer than he could remember.

When his wife had left him, he had been just a shell of a man. All he could remember was pain, desperation, holing himself up on his farm for months and barely going out unless he absolutely needed to. And that was fairly seldom. A trip to the grocery store every couple weeks, trips to the supply store for things for his sheep and dogs. And the rest of the time alone with far too much time to think.

And now he had someone coming to live with him.

Invading his space.

Sometimes his mouth ran ahead of his brain. Not often, really, but when it came to Belle French it seemed to happen more and more frequently.

When the knock came early that morning, tentative and quiet, he heaved a sigh and made his halting way to the door. It was easier moving with the cane and the walking boot he still had to wear, but it wasn't easy. He wasn't sure it ever _would_ be. The doctor had checked his progress and had seemed happy with it, but he had been told multiple times that he would probably never gain full mobility and would probably need a cane for the rest of his life. At 52. He wasn't old, but he _felt_ old as he hobbled toward the door.

"Miss French," he said by way of greeting.

"Why do you sound surprised to see me?" She raised one eyebrow and he found himself smirking at her.

"The fair maiden approaches the dragon's lair on her own? That never seems to happen in the stories."

"You haven't been reading the right stories," she said with a grin and was she actually _flirting_ with him? Women didn't flirt with him. It simply wasn't done.

"Yes well, that may be so. But I was sure your friend Ruby would have talked you out of this."

"She tried," Belle said and bit her lip and he felt that one go straight to….well…places he'd rather not think about at that moment, thank you very much.

"But you decide your fate."

"Exactly." She leaned to the side and looked past him a bit. "So are you going to let me in?"

"Right, of course. Come in." He waved her through ahead of him and turned to shut the door. She stepped into the living room and set her one suitcase and purse down on the ground there. "Do you need help bringing in the rest?"

"The rest?" She met his eyes, brow slightly furrowed.

"Of your things." He waved a hand toward the door.

She looked down at what she had with her and then gave him a sheepish look. "This is all I have. I couldn't bring much of anything with me when we came here."

"I'm sorry." He didn't even know why he was apologizing. He shouldn't. It wasn't his fault.

She shook her head. "Nothing to be sorry about. Onwards and upwards, I always say. I can always get more stuff."

"You are amazing." The words slipped out before he could stop them and he wished he could take them back. But the little smile that crossed her face at the words at least made him pause, appreciate the moment. "I…um…would you like to see your room?"

She nodded and he escorted her up the stairs. He had chosen a room for her about as far from his as he could get. It was small, but not overly crowded, with a bed easily big enough for two of her. It was a comfortable room, he thought, the walls a soothing blue that almost matched her eyes, the curtains a darker blue. It wasn't intentional, really, but it somehow seemed to fit her perfectly.

When she stepped in and looked around her eyes quickly met and held his. "My room?"

"Did you expect a dungeon?"

She laughed. "I was hoping not. But this is truly lovely." She stepped over, brushed her hand across the dresser.

"I told you the place needed a bit of dusting."

"I see that."

"You can start in here?"

"I can."

He let her set her stuff down before showing her around the rest of the house. He liked watching her as she wandered the rooms. She lightly touched things, spent time studying the artwork on the walls and shared some rather insightful comments.

But she was most enthralled by the old fashioned spinning wheels in his workroom. "Do you use these?"

He watched her for a moment before responding. "I do. All my work uses handspun wool."

"From your sheep," she surmised.

"All of the work, from shearing and carding to spinning and weaving is done right here on the farm." He was proud of that. He knew many had sold out, had the wool carded and spun at factories, before weaving into their rugs. But he still worked the old-fashioned way. He _liked_ working with his hands, liked the meticulousness of carding the wool, like the feeling of working the wheel as he spun it into thread.

"That's impressive." She turned to look at him. "No seriously. I've never known anyone who could do something like that."

"I grew up on a farm," he said softly. "My aunts raised me into this life."

"They spun?"

He pointed at the other smaller spinning wheels in the room. "Those were theirs. Passed down generation to generation in the family."

"They must be…"

"Hundreds of years old, yes."

"And you still have them?"

He didn't use them, not anymore. The wheel he used was larger, more modern, though still at least a hundred years old. He had refurbished it after finding it at an antique store some years ago and he was quite proud of it. It felt _good_ beneath his hands, the wood smooth, the action flawless. He could lose himself in the rhythm and forget everything else.

And forgetting was sometimes important.

"Yes, of course. Spinning is somewhat of an art to my family." He didn't dare tell her that his father had thought it too feminine for his boy, had returned once…just once…to find him showing off at the wheel and had turned away. His father was everything he was not. "Come," he finally said, directing Belle away from the room.

It was private. He didn't even know why he showed it to her except that he was proud of his work and wanted her to see some of where it was done.

As they exited, Belle put a hand on his arm. "I'd like to watch sometime…if you'd let me." Her voice was soft and he honestly did believe she would enjoy it.

"I might just let you," he said at least and drew her from the room, shutting the door behind them as he led her through the rest of the house on their rather impromptu tour.

* * *

><p>Belle had spent a little while after the tour of the place she was now to call home arranging things in the room he had given her. Truly she didn't know what to expect when he offered his home as a place for her to live in the meantime. Some utilitarian room. Not this lovely quaint room that seemed to really call out to her. She could be comfortable here and though it felt awkward to sleep down the hall from Gold, she thought she might get used to it.<p>

Perhaps a little too quickly, even.

He had been a gentleman, showing her around his house, though it had clearly pained him to do so. There were some rooms locked to her, his room and two others on the second floor, an attic that he told her she had no need to go into as there wasn't much up there. The kitchen was lovely, large and bright and seriously understocked. She swore she would remedy that soon and made a note to talk to Gold about that later that night.

Her room was now arranged to the best of her ability. She had found a duster and some cloths in the hall closet and had tackled the chore with great gusto. She swept the floor with a broom she found in the kitchen. She considered vacuuming the very lovely area rug but couldn't find a vacuum and then began to wonder if there was some sort of special care, if Gold himself had made it. It made the most sense, really, and when she got down on her hands and knees to inspect it found that there was an attention to detail there that left her in awe.

She had no doubt he had made it. She couldn't imagine another rug-maker weaving in such fine threads, especially not the golden ones. A trademark of his, perhaps. She had gone on to look at the other rugs in the house and noticed the same gold threads woven into the patterns. Sometimes the gold was obvious, sometimes it was so subtle she had to really get down and look closely.

He found her like that, hovering over one of the living room rugs. "Well, this isn't a side of you I expected to see," came the acerbic voice from behind her.

She leapt up and smoothed down her skirt. "I hope you didn't see too much."

He just smiled at her, mysterious, and turned away. "And how do you find the accommodations?"

"The bedroom is lovely. But the kitchen could use a little work…" She trailed off. Honesty is the best policy, right?

"It's state of the art," he shot back.

"Oh there's nothing wrong with the appliances. It's just…you have almost _nothing_ in your cupboards." She crossed her arms over her chest. "Just how do you _live_?"

He shrugged. "I'm a bachelor, Miss French. What I eat doesn't matter."

"That would explain why you're so thin." He just gave her a scathing look at that. "Well, at any rate, it matters to _me_."

He narrowed his eyes slightly. "That may be…"

"And if you expect me to cook for you, you're going to need me to buy supplies."

"I never said you had to cook." He sounded sullen and she almost laughed.

"No, I suppose you didn't. Then I guess I'll get supplies and cook myself. You can live off of…well, whatever it is you want to eat." She turned away, waited.

"Well, if you're going to be _that_ way." With a smile, she turned back and he tossed her a credit card out of his wallet. She wished she could say that she caught it, looking all suave and smug. But the truth was Belle was not the most graceful person and there were reasons she was never in sports.

She scooped it off the floor where it had fallen and tucked it into the pocket of her skirt.

"You're going to be the death of me, aren't you Miss French?" And she noted there was amusement there, not annoyance.

"I'm afraid so."

* * *

><p>Her trip to the grocery store had been entirely successful. Gold had told her to spend whatever she damned well pleased and she <em>loved <em>having the freedom to stock up a kitchen as she saw fit. And she had a lot to buy, from spices to stock to meats and vegetables and pasta. He had a little bit of the latter and she guessed he probably lived on basic spaghetti and similar dishes. But the rest was sorely lacking.

The man was _ridiculous_ if he thought she'd live on such basic food. And she suspected, somewhere deep inside, he didn't want to either. She wondered if he had ever been married. He talked of being a bachelor and she had yet to hear any gossip outside of what a bastard he was. And people were truly willing to discuss _that_. Especially when they realized she was purchasing food using his account.

Oh, the looks she had gotten on that one. And the one person who had implied she must be his whore if she was using his credit card really irked her.

But mostly she was just happy to have a lovely kitchen to cook in and a place to call home, even if it was only for a short while, and even if it came with its very own cantankerous dragon.

She was unpacking all the food she bought when Gold made his way to the kitchen. The thump of his cane and his uneven gait was already becoming familiar to her and so she turned before he even made it to the kitchen and smiled.

"You bought all of this?" He sounded incredulous.

"You literally had _nothing_."

"Do you know what the word literally means?" Now his voice sounded annoyed.

"Ok so you didn't _literally_ have nothing, but you had almost nothing. A few jars of sauce and some pasta hardly counts as food."

He looked rather sheepish for a moment. "And I suppose you're some sort of gourmet cook," he grumbled at her.

"Hardly," she answered in nearly the same tone. "But I can do a pretty mean macaroni and cheese." The last was said with a smile and she felt especially pleased when she saw his eyebrows raise and a somewhat satisfied look come across his face.

"Well, I'll just leave you to it." And then he disappeared.

"I'll take that to mean 'Yes I'd like some Miss French.'" There was answering snort from the other room as he moved away from her.

* * *

><p>Dinner preparations had gone well. Belle really did know what she was doing in the kitchen. She was no gourmet, but she knew her way around skillets and deep fryers and all the other paraphernalia. Her father was an abysmal cook, likely along the lines of Gold. Maybe worse. He was content to open a can of Chef Boyardee and dump it into a microwavable bowl. At least in the hospital he could get nutritious, if not appetizing food. It was bland and entirely uninteresting, but it gave him what he needed and she supposed that was enough, though he didn't seem to think so. She couldn't keep track of the amount of times her father had begged her for a cheeseburger or fried fish.<p>

Her macaroni and cheese was an old family recipe, stuffed full of béchamel and extra sharp cheddar cheeses. It gave it a little extra bite, as did the addition of plenty of pepper. The topping was made with bread crumbs and slathered with butter to make it crispy. It was bubbling by the time Gold came down and seated himself at his dining room table.

The room was formal, the table far too large for the single occupant and somehow seeing him sitting there, imagining him there night after night alone made her sad. He was a difficult man, but that didn't make it any less sad. She wondered sometimes if he ever had the Nolans up to dinner. But considering the state of his kitchen? Well, probably not. And considering the state of his temperament, she couldn't quite imagine his going to them either.

What a sad life. Lonely, isolated. He seemed content to be hated but she wondered if that was how he felt deep down. Perhaps these were more layers she would have to peel away.

Shaking her head, she pulled the dish out of the oven, leaned over to sniff it. Yes, that was the smell she remembered. _Perfection_. If he didn't like this, he wouldn't like _anything_ she could offer.

She spooned some onto a plate to let it cool a little and set to cutting up the crusty bread she had purchased to go with it. As she brought things out to the table, Gold simply eyed her, hands crossed sedately in his lap. But his eyes were sharp, watching every move she made.

"Chardonnay?" he said to the glass she brought out to him.

"Of course. It seemed to be a good wine to pair with the dish."

He shook his head. "Sometimes I don't quite know what to think of you."

"Good," she responded with and then practically danced out of the room. Coming from Gold, she suspected that was quite the compliment.

When she came back out with the dish of macaroni and cheese and the bread, he raised one eyebrow at her. "Are you trying to poison me?"

"What?" She looked down at the dish. There was nothing untoward about it. It looked quite appetizing and in fact, she planned to partake of it herself once he was served.

"One dish?" He waved a hand at the meal in front of him.

_Oh God, he's one of _those _sorts_. She had had an uncle like that. Nothing on the plate must be touching. Everything in its own corner or on its own plate. "I can get you another plate for the bread."

"That's _not_ what I meant," he said drily. At her obviously confused look he continued. "You're not joining me?"

"Oh," she said and thought she must sound awfully stupid. "I didn't think you'd want me to."

"Well, you're living here now. I might as well get used to having you around." His voice was still dry and she wasn't sure if there was sarcasm there or some sort of version of honesty.

"Mr. Gold," she said with a bit of a laugh. "That's not exactly the best invitation to a date, now is it?"

"Is this a date?"

His voice had turned serious. The _conversation_ had turned serious and Belle wasn't sure how to respond. "I…um…"

"I jest, Miss French," he finally said, relieving some of the tension, though the butterflies were still taking to flight. "Please do join me if you wish. You are under no obligation."

She took a deep breath. "I'd like that."

Dinner after that went far easier than she expected. He complimented her on the meal and she expressed her worry that she didn't offer up a dessert to go with it. He waved that off and took a second helping of macaroni and cheese. If he started to eat like this every night, he'd probably put on a few pounds. He needed to, really. She had never taken notice of how sharp his cheekbones were and without the extra padding of the heavy sweaters he favored, he looked all sharp edges. A little comfort food might do him some good.

She'd make dessert next time.

The conversation flowed easier than she expected too. He wasn't forthcoming about his life before or outside of the farm, but she hadn't really expected him to be. Instead, he spoke at length about his dogs, about past dogs, about the champions and the ones who had needed a lot of work.

She found out that at one point he had been competitive in sheepherding trials. She had never even heard of such things, but apparently shepherds had been competing against each other to see who had the best dog since the middle of the 19th century. Gold had gone into a long history of sheepherding trials that left her eyes crossing a little bit. Halfway through it he suddenly stopped.

"I'm boring you." It was a statement, not a question.

"No," she said quickly. "I'm just tired." She stood. "And I really should clean up."

He stood with her, leaning heavily on his cane. "You cooked." He waved her toward the living room. "I should clean up." She eyed his cane and it seemed he knew exactly what she was thinking. "I'm not an invalid."

"I never said you were," she answered with a sigh. "How about I wash, you dry?"

He nodded and together they attacked the dishes. They made quite a pair really, and Belle was appreciative of how comfortable they were in that moment. He seemed to have relaxed, perhaps the wine and good food making him truly relaxed for the first time. She hummed as she washed and he just glanced at her once in awhile, an indulgent smirk on his face.

When the dishes were put away and everything set to rights, Belle returned to find him still standing at the sink staring at the water as it disappeared down the drain. "Everything ok?"

"Yeah." He looked at her out of the corner of his eyes.

"I…" she started to say. "Um…I should go get ready for bed." It was early yet, but living on a sheep farm meant early mornings.

"We should do this again," he whispered.

"We should," she responded with. And she was surprised by how much she meant it. She had actually _enjoyed_ his company that night. He had still been his usual acerbic, sarcastic self, but with a softer edge. One she knew she could get used to.

Without putting any thought into it, because _thinking_ would stop her from doing it, she placed her hand on his shoulder and leaned closer to him. She hesitated for a moment before closing the distance and placing a soft kiss on his cheek. "Goodnight, Mr. Gold."

And then she disappeared up the stairs, not even turning around to look at him. She didn't want to see his reaction, not this time at least.


	9. Chapter 9

Things settled down on the farm and Gold found himself getting increasingly used to Belle French's presence in his life. She had taken over the house, quite without his intending for it to happen. The kitchen was now her domain and in the couple weeks since she had settled in, he had happily allowed her to make his meals. He was sure he'd gained a couple pounds but he hadn't owned a scale since his wife had left him. It was one thing he had been happy to see go. And Belle had not asked about such a thing. Not that he would buy one for her if she _did_ ask.

He was thankful she had not, really. His wife had been a shallow woman, spending time staring in the mirror, worrying about the lines near her eyes, contemplating Botox and plastic surgery and how to look younger than her years. Belle was younger than his ex, probably by a good fifteen years or more, but at around 30 she was long past the age when his ex-wife began lamenting about her wrinkles and grey hairs.

Belle seemed fairly natural and he had been surprised to see her tromping around the house wearing baggy pajamas that she had stolen from his drawers and her hair sticking out on end. After she showed up for her "interview" wearing a short skirt and high heels, he really hadn't expected her to be quite so laidback about things.

And he liked it, if he had to be honest. He was meticulous about his appearance, to be sure, but it allowed him to at least relax _a little_ when she was there. Even if he did grouse a bit about the stolen pajamas. _They're more comfortable than mine_, was all she'd say and then go on her merry way. As if she weren't raiding his closets, as if he would just accept it as a normal part of his life.

He wasn't used to sharing his home with anyone, after all. He hadn't in some ten years except for the couple weeks in the summer that his son came to visit. Having someone there was disconcerting to say the least and her being so easy and relaxed about it all made it at least somewhat easier for him. Not that they didn't argue. Belle challenged him in ways no one else would dare. And he _allowed_ it, which was not something he expected or even understood.

They had fallen into a routine over the weeks since she had come to live there. He woke to the smell of Belle throwing together breakfast. _Breakfast_. He was used to having some cold cereal and his tea. Belle believed in a good hearty breakfast, especially if she was going to be out in the barn working all morning. Lunch was something simple, but always homemade. Cold meat left over from the night before, a bit of bread, some cheese.

And then it was back outside to do some training with Bandit. The dog was coming along nicely, rather more so than he ever would have thought. He didn't tell her, not in so many words, but Belle was a natural with the dogs. The fact that Taz had gone right to her said a lot right from the start, but Bandit had also taken to her easily. They weren't quite a _team_ yet, but they were on their way to it. They had gone from starting the dog's interest in sheep to working on the basic commands. Lie down, walk up, get back, easy. He ran Belle through the commands every morning. She had to know them without thinking about them.

A handler that is confused makes it even harder for the dog. They would trip over each other and create chaos among the herd.

Gold laid out a circle on the table in front of them. "Now the dog is _here_, Miss French," he said, pointing to a spot that put them at around the eleven o'clock mark. "If you want them to come toward you, is it 'away' or 'come by'?"

"Anti-clockwise. Away to me." She sounded almost excited. She knew she had it right.

"Yes. Exactly." She was almost never wrong and soon she would be ready for more.

He was loath to admit it, even to himself, but he enjoyed their afternoon training sessions. It had become a ritual of sorts, something to keep his mind off the cane and his need for help. He was getting around easier and the physical therapy was down to just twice a week. Every Monday and Thursday, David Nolan would arrive at the house promptly at 8:30am, far too cheerful as always, pick him up to bring him to that damned hospital to have his ankle poked and prodded, forced to bear weight on it. It was so damned painful and left him feeling so weak that he wasn't even allowed to drive himself. He couldn't wait to see the tail end of _that_ one, though he suspected that even when he was done with it, he still wouldn't have regained all he'd lost.

He'd probably always need help.

Which meant that once Miss French left, and leave she would certainly do, he would have to hire someone else to take her place.

He dreaded that day. He was fairly certain she wasn't replaceable at all.

And frankly that thought quite perplexed him.

* * *

><p>It was the beginning of her fourth week living with Gold when he told her it was time to get back out with the sheep again. She had been working individually with Bandit. Leaning the commands, teaching the commands. She couldn't have imagined just <em>how much<em> was involved in this sort of training. The dog certainly had instincts. She clearly wanted to drive the sheep, she had good balance according to Gold and though she was still a bit unruly, she had the makings of a fine sheepdog.

Not that Belle could tell a good one from a not so good one.

But she trusted Gold.

And that was a strange thing right there. She had come there simply to work and get out as soon as she could each day. Instead she found herself spending her mornings and evenings with Gold, discovered he was not the bad company he seemed to think he was.

That afternoon, the sun had come out and temperatures had finally climbed above 40. She hadn't been sure it would _ever _get there, so far up in the frigid north, but Gold had just laughed and assured her they _did _have a summer in Maine, despite what the locals may say.

When they met up out in the field, Gold had already had Taz separate five sheep from the group. They were milling about in the pen, just waiting for something to happen. Belle walked quickly to him with Bandit, who now seemed to be fairly attached to her, at her side. The dog, who had grown into her beautiful black and white coat, had truly become Belle's dog. Gold told her that the dogs were generally one-person dogs, working closely with their shepherd. A dog who did not bond to the shepherd or a dog who loved everyone was a liability.

Bandit certainly had bonded with Belle. Gold had been quick to note that. The dog had taken an instant like to her. Taz, his best working dog, had as well, much to his annoyance. But Bandit's bond had gone deeper. Recently, she became only the second dog to be allowed to sleep in the house, taking up residence in Belle's room and sticking close by her side.

"Are you ready for this?" Gold asked as she approached the pen with an increasingly alert Bandit. Introducing her to sheep and beginning formal lessons had given the focus to the young dog that she had been lacking.

"I think so. What are we doing?"

"Today we work on outruns." He opened the gate to the pen and waved her inside. He followed right behind her, Taz staying on the outside like he somehow _knew_ his presence was not needed.

"Sending the dog out to gather the sheep?"

He nodded. "Exactly. I knew you could learn this stuff, Miss French."

"Aren't you _ever_ going to call me Belle?"

He gave her a blank look. "The goal, _Miss French_…" She rolled her eyes at that. "Is to get the dog around the sheep and have them make the 'lift' gently and easily. If the dog comes in too close, the sheep can take off fast and in the wrong direction."

"Right. Pear-shaped." She remembered his drilling that into her, remembered watching Taz's outruns. He would shoot up at a diagonal to the sheep and then go out and around, coming in quietly and without any big fanfare behind them.

She was starting much the same, but without the great distance.

"Exactly. Now step here." He tapped his cane on the ground and when she stepped to the spot, backed off slightly. "Away to me or Come bye?" Belle glanced at the sheep. It didn't matter, really. It was a small pen.

"Away to me," she answered.

"Good. Get Bandit on your right side. When you release her you're going to have to _show_ her where she's going. Raise your stick, point it in the direction you want and release her with the proper command. Don't think of it as left or right. It's anti-clockwise, nothing more."

She did as he said. "Away to me," she said, quiet, firm, and used her stick to point to her right, to the anti-clockwise direction. Bandit leapt back but went nowhere else.

"Again."

She did it again.

In fact, she did it _four_ more times before Bandit took off racing in the correct direction. She didn't stop at the other end to make the leap, she kept going, flying past the sheep and upsetting them.

"Lie down." Gold growled and the way he said the words caused even Belle to jump. "You have to tell her to lie down. How the hell else is she going to understand her position?"

"Right," Belle responded with. "That'll do." She remembered that command at least and Bandit returned to her quickly. She brought her back to her right side and attempted another outrun command.

It only took two times this time and finally Bandit was running out and around the sheep. "Lie down!" Belle called at the right moment, just before the dog started to move the sheep. And Bandit did as she asked.

"Good." Gold responded with. "Now we just need to get her to move a little further out from the sheep. Did you see how close she cut to them?" The sheep he was using were dog savvy. They didn't move. Other sheep might have moved and truly skittish ones might have panicked and fled, causing complete chaos if they weren't in a solidly fenced in area.

He stepped up and showed her how to use her body and voice to get the dog to go out further.

Belle released Bandit from work once more, called her back, and set her up again. This time she watched and could see the moment Bandit started to turn too tight to the sheep. She stepped forward, used her stick, but was a little too late.

The next time she could anticipate it and got out there before Bandit started to close in. Her stick and command of "Get out" pushed her out and away from the sheep. Her command of "lie down" got the dog to stop in the right spot.

"Excellent," Gold said and she was sure that was the best compliment she had ever gotten from him. When he met her eyes, she realized there was some sort of pride there. "We might just make a shepherd of you yet."

"Thank you." This wasn't quite what she had in mind when she took on the job with him, but she found she couldn't complain. He was a difficult task master, a difficult man to get to know, but when he was out with the sheep and the dogs, he seemed an entirely different person all together. There was a quiet confidence to him and he was clearly in his element. Belle found she very much enjoyed seeing that side of him.

"Release her," he pointed out and Belle turned to glance back at Bandit, who was still watching the sheep with a focused eye.

"That'll do," Belle said and immediately the dog was at her side. Faster than she'd seen her run to Gold. It was pretty impressive the speed the dog had when she needed it.

He had her practice a few more short outruns, sometimes clockwise, sometimes the opposite and then had her release the dog for a final time.

"Short sessions," Gold said as Belle released the sheep from the pen to rejoin the herd and she and Gold made their slow way back to the house.

"I thought these dogs were supposed to have great stamina."

Gold looked at her out of the corner of his eye and smirked. "Doing research, have you?"

"I have degrees in library science. What did you expect?" Research was her life. Spending time in a library or even online in virtual stacks, made her feel alive. Maybe that was strange and it was probably especially strange to someone like Gold, whose entire life revolved around the physical…sheep, dogs, spinning, wool. But it was _her_ and when she had a chance to do a bit of reading on sheepdogs and herding, she jumped at the chance. She already had several websites full of videos and instructions bookmarked on her laptop.

"I didn't know that."

"Didn't you read my resume?" She turned to look at him with wide, innocent eyes. At Gold's scoffing noise, Belle grinned. "That _is_ why you hired me, isn't it?"

"Oh yes," he responded with. "There's a great demand for librarians on sheep farms. Hadn't you heard? They're all the rage these days."

She laughed and reached over to link arms with him before realizing just what exactly she was doing. Withdrawing, she stepped a little bit further away from Gold and they finished the rest of the walk in silence.

When they arrived and stepped into the house, Gold gave her a somewhat odd look. "Dinner tonight?"

"Of course." It was a dismissal. She knew it for what it was and didn't question it. He was a private man, that much she knew, and often withdrew to his study or another room after their afternoon training sessions. She was left to her own devices then. Sometimes she went into town to see Ruby and Ariel. Both were becoming fast friends and Belle was thankful for that, even if neither understood why exactly she continued to work for the "monstrous" Gold.

If it was one of her father's good days, she went to visit him at the hospital. He had many days that _weren't _good, doped up on heavy painkillers and asleep for much of the day. He was a kind old soul, had raised her after her mother died. He did his best by her, though even her father would admit that he wasn't the ideal parent. But she loved him. Loved him dearly. He was all she had left in the world, so far away from her home country. But he was failing. And quickly.

She wasn't ready to lose him, but the cancer was eating at him little by little. Chemotherapy and radiation could only beat it back so long and he was losing that battle. She knew his life was measured in months, maybe even weeks. And so she visited as often and for as long as he could handle. Some days she dropped in only to give him a kiss on the cheek, others she spent time playing Scrabble and Yahtzee with him.

They were sad days and yet joyful at the same time. She had quiet moments to cherish, seeing her father's face light up when she told him she had a job and was making good money and would be able to support herself was worth everything in the world. It was worth dealing with Gold's sarcasm, worth dealing with the occasional temper tantrum. And he had a fair amount of those. Gold was usually highly controlled in his actions, but after he got back from a physical therapy appointment he was like an angry cat, shouting at anything in his way and holing himself up in his room where he couldn't be bothered.

She hadn't told her father she was living with her employer. She didn't dare. She wanted these last weeks, last months to be good ones for her father and she didn't want him to fret about her living situation. He didn't know Gold, of course, and he didn't know his reputation. But he would find out soon enough if he spoke of it to the nurses.

And so she kept such worrisome things from her father. Sometimes it was just easier that way.

* * *

><p>Seven pounds, three ounces. David Nolan still couldn't quite believe it. He had a <em>daughter<em>. His wife had given birth early that morning after a long drawn-out labor. It hadn't been a particularly hard birth, they told him, but it was her first and the first was usually the longest labor. But it was worth it…so very worth it. Seeing her hold their infant daughter, getting to cradle her fragile little body in his own arms. It was worth every single bit of it.

Mary Margaret had been admitted for the night, common practice they told him. If all went well, she could go home tomorrow and suddenly his life would be something entirely different than it had been. But that night he was on his own. Visiting hours ended at 8:00pm and the nurses had asked the new father to head home for the night.

And he _would_ head home. He promised Mary Margaret he would get a good night of sleep. But he wasn't ready to go home just yet to his quiet and lonely house with the new cradle all assembled, the room painted in yellows and greens, the house that would be not just his and Mary Margaret's, but a _family's_. First he had a stop off to make. Gold's.

It wasn't that he and Gold were really friends, but in many ways he was the closest he had to one. They were fairly isolated in the hills as they were and despite everything, Gold had been there for he and Mary Margaret. Through everything they'd ever been through, the cantankerous older man had somehow managed to support them. If that didn't make them friends, he wasn't sure what _did_ really.

The lights were on at Gold's when he pulled up in front of the house at about half past eight. Gold was often a bit of a night owl, which was unusual among shepherds, who tended to be up before dawn to tend to their flock. And it wasn't that Gold didn't get up early. He did. But somehow he managed late nights _and_ early mornings. He didn't know how he did it.

He knocked and worried that the other man might find it taxing to get all the way to the door to let him in. He _knew_ how cranky that made Gold. He was just about to open the door and duck his head in when it flew open.

"Belle!" David exclaimed.

"David," Belle responded with and he was struck by the warmth of her voice. "Is everything ok?"

He just blinked. "What are you doing here?"

"I was just going to ask you the same thing," Belle said and he was sure he heard a sardonic twist to the words. Had she been spending too much time with Gold? He didn't even want to _begin_ to contemplate why the young woman was at the man's house this late at night.

"I…" he started to say but the words caught in his throat.

"I live here," Belle finally said in answer to his question and he almost choked. "In my _own_ room. David, what is going on?" She sounded like she was scolding him with the last.

"I'm sorry." He ran his fingers through his hair and pulled out the two cigars he had tucked into the pocket of his shirt. "I guess I should have brought three of these then."

Belle stared at them for a moment before he saw understanding dawn. "Oh David." She stepped forward and embraced him quickly. "Congratulations!" She stepped back from the hug. "Boy or girl?"

"Girl," he responded. "Emma Renee."

"That's a lovely name."

"I'd hate to break up this little chat, but is there a reason you're here so late, Mr. Nolan?" Gold's acerbic voice came from somewhere behind Belle and David watched her jump and turn to face him.

He held up the two cigars and it took only a moment for it to register. Gold's whole face softened and it was an unexpected sight, not something many would ever get to see.

"Congratulations," he said and his voice had lost all of the edge it had a moment before. "The birth of your first child…well…it's something special." He held his hand to his heart. "Truly."

"Thanks. So um…"

Gold eyed the cigars and reached out, took one in his hand. "Nice choice."

"You know cigars?"

He shrugged. "I don't smoke them, if that's what you mean. But I know the good ones."

David just shook his head. Gold often seemed to know _everything_. He supposed when one holed themselves up their house as often as Gold did, it meant a lot of time to read up on anything that interested him. David wasn't much of a reader. He was a doer and in his spare time, which was likely to be about _none_ starting the next day, he watched a bit of television.

He wasn't even sure Gold _owned _a television.

"So do you want to…"

"Not inside," Gold said quickly. "I don't expose the dogs to such things." David found his eyebrows raise at that. Taz was, of course, near Gold. He was always near Gold. But what was amazing was that the dog got up once in awhile and weaved between Gold and Belle, before settling down at Gold's side. Behind Belle, settled into a slight crouch was a second dog. He recognized it, the distinctive mask around the dog's eyes one he had seen before amongst Gold's dogs. But the dog was in the _house_? It was the first time he had ever seen a dog besides Taz in Gold's house. He wasn't quite sure what to make of that. He wasn't quite sure what to make of _any_ of this, frankly.

"I'll just leave you two to it then," Belle said and started to bow out of the conversation.

"Not at all, dear," Gold said. "Please do join us." He waved her ahead of him and as she nodded and stepped past them, David watched Gold watching _her_. The man's eyes followed her the entire time and if it weren't Gold who was doing the watching, he was sure that the look would be described as one part longing and one part lust. The latter he could understand from a purely aesthetic viewpoint, but this was _Gold_ he was talking about. He had never seen the man so much as glance at a woman. Or a man for that matter. He had been fairly certain there was no attraction to any gender on Gold's part.

But he was fairly certain now.

Gold was attracted to her.

And that could mean very bad things for Belle, living with the man as she was now.

But then they approached the enclosed porch and he watched Belle open the door for Gold and allow him to enter first and damned if she didn't seem to have the same look Gold had on her face. A slight smile, eyes that lingered just a little bit too long. There was something both familiar and strange there.

With a quick shake of his head, he followed them onto the porch and sunk into one of the chairs there. This was definitely going to be an odd evening.

And probably a damned uncomfortable one too.

He'd have to remember to tell Mary Margaret about it when he returned to the hospital the next day.


	10. Chapter 10

She had run out of hay. She knew it was coming but that didn't make it any easier, really. When she had informed Gold the other day about the lack, he pointed her to the hayloft. She had noticed it before. Of course she had. But she didn't really think that _she_ would have to take things down from there. She assumed he could call on David Nolan or someone who was significantly taller than her own measly five foot two. But no. It was part of her duties and he had given her a rather annoying smirk and asked if she was sure she was cut out for this job after all.

_Of course I am_, she had said with a huff and it was left there.

And now the day had come.

_Bloody hell_.

There was a ladder off to the side and she was sure she could climb up and toss a few bails down. It couldn't be _that_ hard after all, right? She was small, but she was sturdy and all the work of the last weeks had made her the strongest she had ever been.

Not that that was really saying all that much.

So that day she got up a little earlier and headed out to the barn to get down some fresh hay. The ladder fit snugly against the lip of the loft and Belle managed to get about halfway up before she realized that she'd have to climb _into_ the loft and toss the bails down.

Which meant somehow getting back down the ladder.

Which mean hanging a bit over the edge with her feet dangling in the air.

Belle wasn't scared of much, but heights, or more specifically the height she could _fall_ from, certainly did frighten her a bit.

There had to be a better way.

Climbing back down, Belle shoved the ladder over another five feet, close to the hay. If she could get up toward the top, she could lean over a little bit and yank the nearest bale off the edge of the loft and onto the ground. It wouldn't be the most elegant solution, but who was there to watch, really?

It shouldn't have been difficult, but somehow it was far harder than she imagined. She tugged on the nearest bail once, twice. The damned thing slid forward only a few inches.

_Well, damn_. Her father always told her she was stubborn and this time was no different. She _would_ get that bale down, come hell or high water. She tugged again and it slid forward about a foot. She almost squealed with delight as she felt it shift, but started to lose her balance and grabbed at the ladder to keep from falling. Taking a deep breath, she reached for the bale again, catching hold of the twine tying it together and tugging hard. It didn't budge.

"What _are_ you doing?" came the voice from down below her and Belle grabbed onto the ladder again.

"Getting bales of hay," she said and her tone of voice clearly implied it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"Like that?"

"Yes, like _that_." She yanked again. The bale didn't budge. She looked back down at Gold. "You didn't nail these things down, did you?"

He made a scoffing noise. "Of course not. Why would I do that?"

"Why indeed?" She could hear him shift around beneath her, could see him come to stand close to the ladder as she tugged again.

Once.

Twice.

On the third time the bale suddenly moved but she was so off balance as it came loose that she felt the world tilt strangely. She let go of the bale and tried to grab for the ladder, another bale of hay, anything.

Her hand met air, grasping uselessly.

She heard the bale hit the ground just moments before she completely lost her balance. She didn't even have time to let out a scream before she was flying through the air, her heart plunging to somewhere in the midst of her stomach. She could almost hear the crunch of her bones as she hit the ground.

But that didn't happen.

Instead, she hit something soft.

Something that let out an _oof_ as the air left his lungs and strong arms came around her. For a moment she hung there, turned to look at Gold's face. For it _was_ Gold who had caught her. Saw the stunned look there as he realized he was holding her.

And then he collapsed beneath the extra weight, his ankle caving beneath him as the two of them crashed to the ground in a tangle of arms and legs and pain.

"Mr. Gold!" Belle shouted and rolled off of him. He lay there, unmoving for the moment. "Mr. Gold, are you ok?" She knew he wasn't though. She could see the lines of pain around his mouth and eyes, could see the way he was laying somewhat awkwardly.

"Call 911."

"Oh God," Belle whispered. "I'm so sorry. I should never have done that. I don't know what I was thinking…"

"Call. 911" He forced the words out through clenched teeth.

"Your ankle," she murmured. "Where is your phone?"

"Pocket," he said and his voice was getting weaker with the pain.

"Oh God," she murmured again. Stick her hand _in his pocket_. What had this world come to? She leaned over and felt both pockets, trying not to be overly aware that her hand was so close to…well…_there_. She found it in his right pocket and quickly plunged her hand in to get the phone. "I will never ever do that again. I swear to God."

"Good," Gold murmured and she could _almost_ hear a bit of humor beneath the pain.

The 911 operator picked up at the end of the first ring and Belle quickly relayed all that had happened. Well, not all. They didn't need to know that she had caused this, that _she_ had been the one to set back all the progress he had made.

He would kill her for this.

"They'll be here soon," Belle murmured, watching as Gold's eyes fluttered shut. She reached out a hand, touched him lightly on the shoulder. "Stay with me, ok?"

He nodded. "I'll be fine."

"Is there anything I can do? I'm afraid to move you." The ankle seemed to have at least straightened itself out after the fall, but she could still remember the _sound_ he made as he hit the ground with her on top of him.

"No…nothing."

She reached out and took his hand and was surprised when he didn't pull away, his long fingers wrapping around hers.

They were still there on the ground of the barn when the ambulance showed up. She could hear the sirens and so squeezed his hand once and left the barn to find them.

She also found a rather worried looking David right behind them. "I saw the ambulance. What's going on, Belle?"

"Gold fell."

"Is he ok?"

Belle almost rolled her eyes at that, but stopped herself in time. David was a good man, he meant well, but some things were rather obvious. "No."

"Right. Dammit." The paramedics were in the barn and soon were bringing Gold out on a stretcher.

"Are you coming Ma'am?" one of the paramedics said and Belle turned to David, eyes wide.

"Go with him." David said, reaching out to pat her rather awkwardly on the back. "I'll meet you at the hospital."

Belle nodded and climbed into the ambulance. She was surprised to see Gold reaching for her and took his hand in hers again. He was in pain. It was the only explanation for why he seemed to be seeking comfort from her.

As the ambulance took off, she watched the man who had caught her as she fell. He had probably saved her life. And she had no idea what to do about that.

* * *

><p>It was a repeat of his time in the hospital some few months ago. He first became aware of the pain, then a beeping noise, and finally managed to crack his eyes open. The room was dim, likely night time outside and though he had been left to sleep, he knew they'd come soon to poke and prod at him, take his blood pressure, ask him questions.<p>

As if he had some sort of heart attack and not a bloody disastrous fall with another human being on top of him. A human being who had opted to do something stupid and dangerous and had nearly gotten herself killed.

He had stepped under her without even thinking about it. He had just moved and reached up, as if he were stronger, as if he weren't already injured, as if he could simply pluck her out of the air and save the damsel from the distress of her own making. And for one brief shining moment he thought he had succeeded. And then his ankle had collapsed underneath them and they had gone tumbling to the ground.

Belle was ok.

He supposed that was what counted, really.

And he didn't know why that was quite so important to him. In his pain and drug-induced haze he couldn't stop thinking about the moment she was in his arms. Safe. Unhurt. Before all hell broke loose.

He wanted to stop thinking about it, but his addled brain kept replaying the moment when he felt her, soft and warm, cradled close to him.

Replayed it, as if he was holding a lover and not the clumsy woman who had somehow taken over his house and damned near his life as well.

A shuffling noise from somewhere in the room made him turn his head. "Mr. Nolan."

David rose from where he'd been sitting and came to stand over his bed. It was a familiar position for him, remembered from the first time he'd been in the hospital, prone in a bed just as he was now. David shook his head as he crossed his arms over his chest. "Just what _were_ you thinking old man?"

Gold snorted. "Apparently I tried to play Prince Charming. Where _is_ Belle, anyway?" He hoped she was back at the house, but he had vague memories of her being in the ambulance before he had blacked out from the pain and whatever medication they had pumped into his system.

"She's at the cafeteria. I told her I'd stay with you while she got something to eat."

"She's ok?" The words slipped out before he could stop them.

"You're concerned about her." He hated the way David sounded so bloody sure of himself.

"Of course not."

David just smirked. The bastard. "She's fine. You broke her fall."

Gold glanced down and grimaced at his foot. "I'm back on crutches again, aren't I?"

"It appears so."

He groaned. "What was I thinking, indeed?" He suspected it would take a long time to figure _that_ one out. Such a thing was not his normal reaction. He worried about himself. And his dogs. He didn't worry about anyone else. If David had fallen, he was pretty sure he'd have stepped back and hoped the man didn't break too many bones. But no, for the first time in his life he had to play the gallant. And he would pay rather dearly for it.

"Mr. Gold." The nurse who stepped into the room was tall, thin, her face severe. "It seems our knight in shining armor has awakened." There was a sort of sarcasm there that he found rather unpleasant.

He glanced over at David. "This is going to ruin my reputation," he groused.

David just smiled as the nurse took his blood pressure, checked his temperature. "How are you feeling Mr. Gold?" she asked as she reached around his wrist and felt for his pulse.

"Like a hundred pounds fell off a hayloft and flattened me," he answered drily.

"More like a 115 pounds." He turned his head to see Belle enter the room. She looked sunny, bright, not a hair out of place and clearly no injuries. She wasn't limping, no limbs in a cast.

"I see you're healthy and hale," Gold said with a slight grimace. In some ways, he was pleased. He couldn't deny that. After all, what use was injuring himself if she too was injured?

"Thanks to you," Belle responded with and he was surprised when she came to his side again and reached out to touch his hand. He couldn't move away. But he wasn't even sure he wanted to. And frankly, that left an odd feeling in the pit of his stomach.

"Yes…well…" He reached over with his other hand and patted hers a couple times. "It was no matter."

Belle leaned over him and for a moment all he could see were her far too blue eyes. "But it _was_." Her voice was adamant.

David cleared his throat and she moved back and away from him and he didn't quite like the way he suddenly felt that loss keenly. He had no idea what they had him looped up on this time, but it must have been pretty heavy duty stuff. He felt like he was floating and while he could feel the pain in his ankle, especially if he tried to move it at all, he also felt…good?

Relaxed.

Peaceful.

Damned pain meds.

He waved Belle off. "You should go home."

She smiled at him. "I will soon. I just wanted to make sure you were ok."

"The dogs will need their dinner."

She shook her head. "Of course."

"And Taz," he murmured. He could feel the darkness creeping in around the edges of his vision. Morphine. They had probably given him some version of morphine to dull the pain.

"I'll make sure he's taken care of."

The world went black a moment later.

* * *

><p>"He cares about you, you know." He didn't take his eyes off the road as he spoke the words.<p>

Belle turned to look at David, eyes wide. "No. I don't quite think he does."

"He saved you…"

She shook her head. "Anyone would have done that."

David glanced at her out of the corner of his eye and then back to the road. "You really think that?"

"I do." People were good…somewhere deep down inside. She believed that. Truly. If she didn't then what was left to her? Cynicism and anger? Pessimism? She just couldn't live her life like that. She saw the good in people, whether they wanted her to or not.

She had even seen the good in Gold. His love for his dogs was worn on his sleeves. Even his love for his sheep was. Oh, he didn't have the complete adoration for the sheep as he did the dogs, but he definitely cared for them. There was a good core somewhere deep down inside the man.

"You know Belle, when I first brought you to Gold I did it more out of pity for the two of you. You seemed so desperate for a job. He needed help more than he would admit. I was sure that he would take one look at you and send you on your way…"

"And he did," she interrupted him with.

"But you won him over." She could hear the slight upward turn of his voice at the end of the sentence. He didn't know. Gold had never told him.

"Taz," she answered the unspoken question with.

"His dog?"

Belle nodded, knowing that David couldn't see her. "He came right up to me and put his head in my lap. Taz, not Gold," she added with a smirk.

"That ornery old dog?" David sounded surprised. "He doesn't like anyone." A pause. "Truth be told, I don't think _Gold_ likes anyone either."

"I dare say you're right about that." But she had been around him long enough, lived at the house long enough now that she was sure he was coming to be at least a _little_ bit fond of her.

David pulled up in front of Gold's house and stopped. Belle hopped out lightly, grabbing the key that she had stuffed in her pocket before leaving the hospital.

"Belle," David suddenly said, leaning out the window. His face was serious and that was unusual for a man who she usually considered to be pretty jovial. He always had a smile, even when Gold was tossing some insult or another his way. "Just…I've never seen Gold take to someone like he has you. And…" He paused there and that left her feeling a little on edge, a little uncomfortable. "Don't break his heart."

"I…" She stopped. What could she say to that? "Of course not," she finally managed and disappeared inside the house. A moment later she heard David pull out of the driveway and she was blessedly alone.

Well, alone except for the presence of the dogs, who had crept out of the shadows when she arrived home. "Come on. Let's see about getting you some dinner."

It took little to feed the dogs. Some high quality kibble, mixed with a bit of meat that she had cooked up the night before. They ate well, each one to their exact specifications depending on how much they were working. Gold had it down to a science and she was learning it well.

Except for Taz and Bandit, the other dogs ate in their kennel. She fed them quickly, coming close to taking pity on the dogs and bringing them all into the house. But she refrained. Gold had finally relented on allowing Bandit in, but she was sure the others would be a most unwelcome presence. And so she left the others to their meals in the kennel and the two dogs allowed in the house gobbled down their meals and then retreated to the living room. Taz took his place closest to Gold's recliner and Bandit hopped up on the couch.

She knew she shouldn't be there, but she didn't quite have the heart to tell her to get off. So instead she washed up the dishes and set the kitchen to rights.

It was easier for her to keep moving, but once the chores were done and Belle could think of nothing else to do, she slumped down on the couch with Bandit. Taz crept closer and the three of them stayed there in silence for a time.

Gold had _saved_ her. He had acted like it was no big deal, but _she_ knew. She had passed the place it had happened on her way out to feed the dogs and could see just how far the fall had been, a good fifteen feet or so. If Gold hadn't stepped underneath her, she would have broken something and perhaps something even more serious than an arm or a leg.

She could have come down on her head.

She could have been killed.

But the man had stepped up and _caught_ her and it was an impressive feat for any man, much less one who was still wearing a walking boot and sporting a rather severe injury. He had done it without thinking.

David thought he cared about her.

A day ago she would have said she was nothing more than an annoyance. Or maybe someone Gold thought had a bit of potential and so decided to take under his wing. Certainly nothing more than an unwanted protégé.

But now? Now she wasn't so sure.

Perhaps even _worse_, she didn't know how _she_ felt about it all. He was sarcastic, cranky, sometimes a downright bastard. But somewhere, somewhere _deep_ down inside, she had caught a glimpse of something more. Those moments when he had held her in his arms, she had felt safe and protected. Her eyes had met his and they had been wide, unfocused, the pupils large.

She had felt a pull toward him, had wanted to wrap her arms around him. Her eyes had only just been straying to his lips, when they had taken their tumble to the hard ground of the barn.

And that, perhaps, worried her more than anything else at the moment. With a groan, Belle got ready for bed. She'd have plenty of time to think about this in the morning.


	11. Chapter 11

All told, Gold spent three days in the hospital recuperating from the fall they had taken. Well, _he_ had taken, really. Belle had felt a little banged up the next day, a little sore if she turned her body to the left too fast. But a good soak in the tub and a little work in the barn to loosen up tight muscles had cleared that up nicely.

But Gold had been laid up in that hospital bed, foot in a cast _again_. He didn't need surgery this time at least, but the doctors had apparently informed him that he had undone some of the healing process that had been going on. The bones had cracked in a couple places and he would have to be on crutches again.

The look he had given when he told her that had been inscrutable. She wasn't sure if he was proud of what he had done, plucking her out of the air and injuring himself to save her. Or if he was angry at her for doing ridiculous things like climbing ladders and leaning out too far to fetch hay.

She was fairly certain it was a bit of both.

In his absence, Belle had been preparing the house for his return. He couldn't make it up the stairs in his condition and so she had brought down blankets and a pillow, his slippers though really he could wear only one. She dug through his closets and brought down a few changes of clothes. She even brought down Taz's beaten up old dog bed. She was sure he'd want it.

Glancing around the room, she decided everything was set there.

She had made sure the bathroom was set too. There was a small plastic stool in a closet that she was sure was used when he needed to take a shower. There were towels upstairs and his shaving supplies, soap, toothbrush. Everything she could think of she had brought downstairs in preparation for his return.

She wanted everything to be perfect.

This was _her_ fault after all and she could not brush that thought from her mind. If she hadn't been so clumsy…if she hadn't been so adamant…if she hadn't been so bloody _stupid_…

Well, there was no use dwelling on that. Gold would probably do enough of that all on his own. She had gone to visit him a couple times in the hospital and while he hadn't outright said anything that indicated he was angry to be laid up again, there was an edge of pain and a bit of sarcasm that told her it was there in his mind.

He hadn't fired her at least.

And he hadn't kicked her out of the house.

Yet.

David had left a little while ago to get him. How Gold was supposed to get into his big truck, she had no idea, but apparently he had brought him home the first time and could do so again. Gold liked him at least. Oh, he pretended to be annoyed by him, pretended that David was somehow beneath him. But she could see the truth between the two men, a sort of grudging respect that meant they often kept their distance but at the same time had each other's backs.

It was an odd sort of friendship and she was pretty sure Gold would not even _call_ it a friendship, but it worked nonetheless.

She heard the door open and heard a muttered curse coming from the front hallway. Rushing out, she found David attempting to help Gold through the door. "I don't need your help," the latter was snarling at the former. But then he looked up, met her eyes, and she saw his face soften. "Belle."

"You sound surprised to see me."

He shrugged, or at least attempted it while holding onto his crutches and leaning rather heavily against the door. "I thought you might…"

"Abandon the animals?" She crossed her arms over her chest and raised one eyebrow.

"She's been taking care of everything while you've been in the hospital," David pointed out. And Belle was amused to hear a bit of annoyance behind the words. He knew how hard she'd been working to prepare the place and though he had only stopped by to lend a hand with getting the sheep back in the evenings, he had been around to see enough of her hard work.

"Has she now?" Gold turned to look at her and there was a moment there, a connection, before he smiled.

"David helped bring the sheep in every night." She met his eyes squarely. "I'm not quite ready for that yet."

He let out a small laugh. "I would think not."

Belle stepped back and let Gold lead them into the living room. David followed close behind him and she could see the way his hands rose every time Gold stumbled slightly and snarled with each misstep.

The odd processional finally made its way to the living room and Gold slumped down in his recliner. Throwing the crutches to the side he pulled the foot of the chair up and leaned back.

Belled stepped forward. "Do you need…"

"No," he growled at her.

"I brought down your…"

He snarled something incoherent and Belle backed up a step. She hadn't seen him act like this before. He had been cantankerous, a bit rude, but never quite like this.

"He was like this the last time," David murmured, close to her ear.

"I can hear that," Gold said. "If you would kindly get my Scotch from the cupboard and pour me a glass and _get out_, I would appreciate it."

He sounded tired in that moment and so David did as he asked, pouring him a fairly decent sized tumbler of the stuff and nodding at Belle as he started to head for the door.

"I'll just…see him out." Belle followed, catching up to David quickly. "I'm sorry."

David gave her an odd look. "Why are you apologizing?"

"Because it's my fault?" She shrugged. "I mean, if I hadn't reached for that bale of hay, I never would have fallen and he wouldn't have reinjured himself."

"It's _not_ your fault." David put a hand on her shoulder and squeezed. "If you need anything…"

"I know where to find you. Now go. Spend time with your wife and daughter. You've been away too much as it is lately. I can handle Gold."

David nodded and then disappeared out the door, leaving her alone to face the dragon in his recliner.

When she returned to the room, she found him fishing out a pill from one of the bottles he had placed on the table next to the recliner. His tumbler of Scotch was at his side and before she could even say a word, he had tossed the pill in his mouth and chased it down with the Scotch.

"Did you just…"

He looked up at her as she started to speak and his grin turned wicked. "Yes."

"But…"

"I'm fairly certain you're not my mother, Miss French." He sounded belligerent and she wasn't sure if it was the alcohol or the pills or the pain or his anger talking. Maybe it was all of them.

She came in and sat on the couch, the same place she sat when she was first interviewed and was just as uncomfortable now. He watched her, choked back a second pill, and his look said _I dare you to say something_. "Do you hate me?" The words tumbled out of her lips and she hated the way she sounded. Small, scared. She didn't _want_ him to hate her and for some reason that _mattered_.

Maybe it was because he saved her.

Maybe it was because she cared.

There was a long pause before he spoke again. "No."

She took a deep breath. "Are you mad at me?"

He smirked then, just a small quirking of his lips. "Maybe a little?" And she loved the uncertainty there.

"I'm sorry." The words were sincere, heartfelt.

"I know."

"But?"

"No buts." He shook his head and for a moment both sat in awkward silence, hands folded in their laps, eyes looking everywhere but at each other. She stole a glance at him from out of lowered lashes and saw his eyes studying the room around them.

"Did you do all of this?" he suddenly asked, one hand gesturing to the room around them.

"All of…" His eyebrows lowered. "Yes. I suppose that I did."

"Why?"

"I thought that would be rather obvious." She couldn't help the somewhat sarcastic smile that crossed her face.

"Humor me, Miss French."

"Belle," she said automatically. He still wouldn't call her by her first name. It was always _Miss French_. It distanced himself from her and she was sure that was why he did it. "This was all my fault." She raised a hand before he could interrupt. "Don't. I know it is. The least I can do is make you comfortable while you're recovering from playing Prince Charming."

He sighed. "I can't say I wasn't mad."

She leaned forward. "At least you can admit it." She tried to smile. "I'm sorry. I truly am."

"You're a walking disaster," he muttered. "But apparently you're _my_ walking disaster."

"Why Mr. Gold," Belle said and batted her eyelashes at him. "I do believe that's the nicest thing anyone's ever said to me."

"Oh, don't give me that nonsense." But there was no bite to his words and Belle just laughed.

"Shall I make us dinner?"

His eyes lit up at that but she could tell he was trying so very hard not to look excited. Three days in the hospital meant three days of hospital food and she couldn't imagine that would sit too well with him. Hospital food was terrible. She knew all too well, having sampled what her father couldn't finish while visiting him.

"I'll take that as a yes," she said with a grin and flitted off to the kitchen to get started on just that.

* * *

><p>"Belle French!"<p>

The voice that called her name was _not_ a happy one and she could just imagine exactly why that was. "Coming!" she answered with, perhaps just a tad bit too sweetly. Oh, she _knew_ was in trouble this time. "Yes, Mr. Gold?"

He was standing by the cupboard, leaning heavily on one crutch, the other hand pointing one accusatory finger at her. "Where is it?"

"Where is…"

"My _Scotch_, Miss French. My bloody expensive 30-year-old Single Malt Scotch. Where is it?"

"Haven't seen it," she said with a smile. He glowered at her.

"Really?"

"Really," she answered and she knew that _he_ knew she was lying.

"Miss French," he growled.

"Why do you want it?" She crossed her arms over her chest.

"Because I'm bloody well in pain and you bloody well know that." He leaned forward slightly, but caught himself against the cupboard. "Now give it to me."

"So you can take your pain pills?"

"Yes."

"No."

"No?" His face had gone red and she was fairly certain a vein was bulging in his forehead.

"It's _dangerous_," she finally managed to get out.

"I think I can make those decisions for myself," he snapped at her. Each word came out hard and precise.

"I don't think you can." She shook her head. So far he hadn't shown very good judgment. She had seen him with the Scotch and his pills on two separation occasions in the days since he returned home from the hospital. She was fairly certain there had been more times that she hadn't caught him.

And he didn't even have the decency to _look_ guilty when she saw him doing it. He just gave her a smirk and knocked the pilled back with the whisky.

Her decision to hide the bottle had been hasty, to be sure. She had stolen in while he slept deeply, so deeply that she was sure it was a result of the combination of painkiller and alcohol. She wouldn't _allow_ him to become some sort of addict, caught in the quicksand that the combination would surely sink him into.

He snarled at her, words she didn't quite understand, and she just shook her head. "I'm not going to let you kill yourself," she said softly. "I care about you too much for that."

The words were plain, honest. He had nothing to say to that, simply stared at her for a moment, silent and still. Belle nodded once at him and departed.

* * *

><p>He stewed for several more days and tore apart the living room trying to figure out where she had hidden the bottle of Scotch. And the other alcohol. She had left nothing to chance, daring him to get up and find the stuff if he wanted it so bad. But he wouldn't. She had hidden it rather cleverly and with his ankle in the condition it was in, he wasn't likely to be able to find it.<p>

And so he refused to talk to her, ate his meals in silence, retreated to his living room and informed her that he didn't wish to be disturbed. He was disturbed _anyway_. Belle brought him tea. She laundered his clothing, prepared his meals, brought him tea and the newspaper that was delivered every day. And when he felt up to it, she brought him his wool to spin.

She was fascinated by that process and could sometimes spend several minutes watching as he lost himself in the rhythm.

But still he stayed quiet, locked inside himself.

It was frustrating to be sure. They had been getting closer and she had ruined it all. First by falling from the ladder and now by hiding his alcohol and refusing him that bit of comfort. But what _else_ could she do?

And so they had come to an impasse, a quiet, very lonely impasse. She missed him. She hadn't quite realized how much she had enjoyed talking to him, hearing his stories about the farm, about the aunts that raised him. He never mentioned his parents and she hadn't pressed for information on them. But his aunts had sounded like tough old women who had ultimately done right by the small boy who had been left in their charge.

It was another three days before he spoke to her. She had arrived in the living room to find him missing and when she couldn't find him on the first floor at all, she almost panicked. But then she heard his voice, coming from somewhere upstairs, calling her name.

She rushed up the stairs, expecting to find him in her room, the bottle of Scotch in hand. But his voice was coming from somewhere else, further down the hallway. Somewhere past even his own room and so she took a right instead of a left.

She found him at the end of the hall in front of a door she had noticed before, but had always been locked. It didn't appear locked now. His hand was on the doorknob and it was pushed slightly open. She couldn't see inside still, but that only whetted her curiosity.

"Ah Miss French, there you are." His voice sounded strangely jovial and she paused for a moment as she approached him.

"Are you quite alright, Mr. Gold?" she asked.

"Yes, yes. Come." He opened the door a bit further. "I have something for you."

"For me?" She couldn't stop the little bit of giddiness in her voice, try to hide it though she did.

"Well, it's not for me, that's for sure. I hardly ever use it." There was the sardonic twist back to his lips, the amusement hidden in the accented voice.

She had no idea where this was coming from, but she wasn't going to complain. With a smile she stepped over the threshold of the room, eyes on Gold. But when he waved an arm around the room and stepped back slightly, she finally got a good look around her.

It was a library.

But not just _any_ library.

It was massive. Bookshelves lined every wall and went clear up to the ceiling. There were rolling ladders, though she noticed none were particularly tall. A fall off one of those would most likely mean only a few bruises. But she suspected Gold would stay away from her if she was on them anyway.

"What is this?" she finally managed to ask after stepping closer to touch some of the books. The smell was enticing. New books mixed with old, the exact smell any library ought to have.

"I thought it should be rather self-explanatory," he answered and she noted the amused sarcasm. Her mouth still hung open and so she closed it as she turned to look at him.

"Yes I know…but…"

"It's for you," he reiterated.

"I don't understand." She couldn't meet his eyes, kept staring at the books. There were titles, she noted, of a huge variety of subjects, completely unorganized. Books on science and anatomy placed next to novels, all shoved tightly into the space. There had to have been hundreds of them, maybe thousands.

He sighed and she finally turned to look at him. He looked small there, vulnerable, standing in the doorway while she explored the room. "These past couple weeks since the…um…

"Accident?" she offered. Disaster? Mess of her own making? No need to remind him of those things. No doubt he wasn't likely to forget.

"Yes…since the accident. This can't have been easy on you. Don't think I haven't noticed all the extra work you've been putting in around the house. Cleaning, cooking, taking care of all my needs."

She did understand what he meant, in that moment. She had attempted to do everything for him. Partially out of a sense of guilt. She couldn't deny that. She felt _guilty_, and horribly so, for what she had done to him. But she also did it because there was some tiny part of her that _liked_ the guy. He wasn't easy to get along with. But she found he challenged her in ways no one else did.

"And so…" She let the words hang, waiting for him to go on.

"This is a thank you," he finally said, voice soft as he met her eyes. "I've noticed you haven't been able to get out to the Storybrooke library and keep re-reading the same few books you brought with you, so…" His voice trailed off as he waved a hand around the room. "I'm sure you can find _something_ in here that's to your liking."

She didn't know what came over here in that moment. She stepped closer to him, stomach alive with butterflies and not totally sure she should be doing what she was thinking of doing. But Belle had always been at least a little bit affectionate.

Reaching up, she wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him in close to her for a hug. He was slightly unbalanced for a moment and she was sure she had made a completely horrible mistake. But then one of his arms wrapped around her and held her there.

They stayed there for a moment and Belle felt him relax into the embrace at the same time she did. But finally she backed away, put a small amount of space between them, and looked up at him. "Thank you," she murmured. "Truly. This is…quite a gift."

She didn't know what else to say and he was staring at her, face almost too close. His eyes met hers and the way they flitted back and forth, the way he seemed to study her, she was sure he was searching for something. Permission, she realized as his hand came up to cup her chin and he moved his face just an inch closer to hers.

And she realized she wanted this. Perhaps she had _always_ wanted this. When his lips met hers, soft and dry, she wrapped her arms tighter around his neck, pulled herself close to him, tangled her fingers in his hair. She heard the other crutch hit the ground and both of his arms came around her waist, hands splayed out across her back. He pulled back, hit the wall, used that as balance as he deepened the kiss, his mouth slanting across hers, his tongue dipping in to taste her.

She moaned somewhere deep in her throat, felt that kiss go straight down to her center. When he pulled away, they were both breathing hard.

"I don't even know your name." She didn't know why those words came out. But he had kissed her and she still called him _Mr. Gold_ and there was something not quite right about that. He was her boss, her employer.

"Tavish," he muttered. And then he kissed her again and she forgot about everything else in that moment except the feel of his lips and his body pressed to hers. When they broke apart again she tried to speak. "Don't…please."

Truth be told she wasn't sure if she could have managed words anyway.

But then he released her and she backed up a pace. "Tavish," she said and the syllables sounded strange on her lips.

"I'm sorry." He shook his head and retrieved the crutch from where it had landed on the ground. "I'm so…_so_…sorry." And then he turned and hobbled down the hallway, shutting the door to his bedroom tight behind him, leaving Belle standing framed in the doorway to the library, alone, confused.

All she knew was she hadn't planned for this to happen.

But it had.

And she had no damned idea what to do about it.


	12. Chapter 12

She'd like to say everything changed at the moment Gold kissed her. But it didn't. In fact, things returned to normal. Or at least as normal as she could imagine when your boss had kissed you both were conflicted about it.

They danced around each other in the days after the kiss. It wasn't mentioned though she thought about bringing it up more than once. She thought about replaying it more than once too, but had never quite gotten the nerve. It had been a moment, she supposed. She had invaded his space and it had led someplace she had never quite expected.

But it brought about a truth she wasn't quite ready to face. Every time he touched her, and he didn't very often really, she felt the crackle of electricity, the somewhat harsh snap of attraction. She had tried to deny it. He was a difficult man to spend time with, often sarcastic, sometimes downright nasty if the pain got the better of him. He shied away from her touch and from personal questions. She knew almost nothing about him and while she had been open with him on much of her life, he still knew little about her as well.

He didn't ask.

And she wasn't sure if that was for lack of interest or because he simply didn't want to invade her privacy.

But then they had kissed.

And she expected there to be some change.

Soft looks, softer touches, something, _anything_. But she had not gotten that. He went back to being irate over his missing Scotch. She went back to making his meals. And the passionate kiss in the library was the sort of elephant in the room. It loomed large and yet both pretended it wasn't there.

It had to break sometime.

But something told her he was stubborn, perhaps even more stubborn than _she_ was and that was really saying something. So he would refuse to acknowledge that _something_ had clearly happened between them.

And she would work quietly, subtly, to get him to finally speak of it.

She had to. Or she might go nuts. It was really _really_ bothering her and the more time that went on, the more bothersome the whole thing got.

She often wondered what would have happened if they had ended up in bed together. They almost had. She was as sure of that as she was anything else. But then he had stepped back, and realized what he had done, and apologized. As if he were the only one involved in that kiss. As if she had not wanted it as much as he did in that moment. Instead of going to bed, he had gone back downstairs, her following behind not long after. He had demanded his damned Scotch and she had yelled at him for being stupid enough to attempt the stairs in his condition. They had gone from near-lovers to a fight in what seemed like seconds and instead of spending the night in his bed she had spent the night alone in her own bedroom, locked away from the pain and anger coming from downstairs.

But she thought about that kiss. Often. Probably more often than she would have liked, really. It wasn't the first time she had been kissed. But it had been the first time she had truly _felt_ something and she couldn't let go of that quite so easily as he seemed to.

It was some three weeks after the kiss that Gold finally got off the crutches. He found her in the kitchen as she was making a couple grilled cheese sandwiches for them.

"No time for that now," he said and she whirled around to face him. He stood framed in the doorway and she realized exactly how _handsome_ he really was. His hair was just a touch too shaggy, his nose just a touch too hooked, but he cut a dashing figure in the knitted sweaters he favored and he looked much better leaning on the gold-handled cane than the crutches he had been using.

"The doctor cleared you again," she said with a smile.

"Indeed he did."

"Good." And she wanted to hug him again but she wasn't sure what kind of reception that might get. Nor where it would lead to. So she allowed him to take the lead this time.

"We have work to do," he said and attempted to wave her out of the kitchen.

She shook her head. "Not before lunch we don't." She wagged a finger at him. "You're still on pain medication…"

"For a couple more days," he pointed out.

"And that medication requires food," she finished.

He sighed. "Fine. But once I'm off this medication…"

"You'll get your damned Scotch back," she finished for him. "But not before." And she smirked. He still hadn't discovered her newest hiding place and she suspected he never would. He rarely went into the attic and he certainly didn't bother climbing up the rickety stairs in his condition. It was her little spot to hide things as she saw fit. When he was done with the last of his pills, she'd give it back to him.

She finished grilling the sandwiches and flipped them onto plates. Gold had rather dutifully taken his seat at the table and he grabbed the sandwich almost as soon as she put it down in front of him. He'd get a burned tongue for that one but it didn't even seem to bother him. It was gone before she even got one bite of her own.

"Aren't you done yet?" he asked.

"Eager, are we?" She gave him a look with a raised eyebrow and took a bite of her sandwich.

"We haven't gotten out there with Bandit in over three weeks," he pointed out.

"Well, _you_ haven't." She smirked at him. "Bandit and I have been practicing commands."

"Really now?" She liked that not only was surprise evident in his voice, but also a bit of respect. He was impressed. Oh, he wouldn't admit it. She knew that. But she could also clearly see it in the way he leveled his gaze on her.

She finished her sandwich quickly and as soon as she was done, he was up and moving. She'd never seen someone who had to use a cane move quite so quickly. But he was obviously ready to get out there with the dogs and the sheep and resume everything they had been doing before her disastrous fall and his injury.

Rushing along behind him, they arrived at the base of the hill together. Taz was at his side. Of course he was. The dog was always there, though Gold would put him away while she worked with Bandit. He sent the dog up and around the sheep and this time she had some idea of what was going on, what the whistles meant and how it all worked.

It wasn't any less beautiful. Gold and Taz worked together like a well-oiled machine. And seeing their communication was breathtaking. But it had lost the mystery somehow and she felt almost sad at that. A few more whistles and the sheep were moving on a direct path to them. As they came close, Gold sent Taz around to the side to halt them and then he stepped up closer.

"Watch," was all he said as he used his cane to help push some of the sheep away from the others. When there was a small gap between the two sections of sheep, the large one on the left, the smaller on the right, he called again to Taz. "In here." And the dog crept in between them. The smaller group of sheep peeled off and Taz and Gold in concert herded the larger group into the pen.

When the gate closed behind them, he released Taz from his duties and turned back to her.

"That's a bit of a tight fit," she said, waving a hand at the sheep filling the pen they normally worked in.

"I know. We won't be working with those sheep." There was a slight smile ghosting across his face. "We'll be working with _those_."

She eyed the other five with a bit of dismay. "But…"

"No buts, Miss French. It's time you started working Bandit out on the field." She started to speak but he held up a hand. "You said you've been practicing."

"Just the commands. Not with sheep." Truth be told she _thought_ about trying to get the sheep into the pen on her own, but she had no clue how to move the animals herself, Bandit was far from ready to do that kind of work and she and Taz were not any sort of team, though the big red and white dog clearly liked her.

She had been pretty sure she would screw it up though. And then she'd have to call David to help. Or tell Gold what she had done. The last thing she wanted to do was lose his sheep. Not only would he be angry, but she was pretty sure she'd never ever hear the end of it. Gold did not seem like the kind of person to forgive all that easily.

"Well, then today's your lucky day, Miss French. You get to try it _with_ sheep. And with my expert guidance, of course." He smirked at her and waved her toward the central part of the field.

"Do you have to still call me that?" She shook her head as she spoke. They had _kissed_. It hardly seemed like _Miss French_ and _Mr. Gold_ were appropriate anymore.

"It's your name, isn't it?"

"My name is _Belle_," she pointed out.

"Be that as it may…"

"We…"

"Don't," he said with a hand raised. And she knew that _he_ knew what she was going to say. The elephant. He didn't want to talk about that damned elephant. "Fine…_Belle_…you win. I'll call you whatever you wish, just go try to herd some damned sheep, will you?"

She laughed. "Excellent. And I'll call you…"

"Gold," he finished for her.

"What? No…"

"No one calls me by my given name."

"But…"

"No one even knows what it is," he added. "Not even Mr. Nolan and he's the closest thing I have to a friend."

"_I_ know it." She crossed her arms over her chest.

"That was…" He paused here, hand waving rather uselessly in the air. "An indiscretion."

The words hit her hard in the chest. Her voice was tight when she next spoke. "Giving me your name or…"

"The name," he said quickly. Then his voice softened. "Only the name."

She took a deep breath, nodded. "Alright then. Show me what's next, oh great teacher." The last was said to lighten the mood, to pull him away from the dark thoughts she could see churning about in his gaze. She would get him to allow her to call him by his given name someday. Today was not the day for the fight.

He watched her a moment longer. "Outruns, Miss…Belle." He glared at her for a moment and she just smiled in response.

"We've been doing those."

"Not like this, you haven't. Bandit knows to work when she can see the sheep close by. But she needs to learn to fetch them from much further away."

She nodded. "Of course." Glancing upwards, she noted the sheep had gone nearly to the top of the hill. "Can she get them from that far away?" Taz could, she knew. She'd seen him bring back the thirty head of sheep easily, even from so far away she could almost not see the sheep. But Bandit was still so new.

"I doubt it," he answered and whistled to Taz. The dog responded instantly and at his command raced out and around the sheep. He made the lift, that moment when the sheep start moving, look effortless. Once the sheep had come down about halfway, Gold whistled for him to lie down and he did so. He whistled for him to move to clockwise around the sheep and when he got out to where he wanted to, another whistle had the dog stopping. "Taz will hold the sheep until released."

"Now you," he said. "Send her around clockwise, opposite where Taz is."

She nodded and stepped up, Bandit on her left. The dog was almost quivering with excitement, waiting to be released. Just a glance at her told Belle that she knew where the sheep were. And so she released her with a quiet command. "Come bye."

Bandit was off like a shot. The arch started perfectly. She went out to the left a little bit, but then started to come in too close. "Use your 'get out' command," he said quickly.

She took the whistle to her mouth and issued the proper command. Bandit didn't respond fast enough and as she came in, the sheep started to panic. The dog was too close, moving too fast. Belle issued one long, loud blast on the whistle and Bandit stopped immediately, laying down and continuing to stare at the sheep.

"Release her," Gold said quietly and as Belle did so and Bandit loped back to her, he continued. "She has to learn respect for the sheep. She doesn't work properly, doesn't listen, she doesn't play the game."

"Is it just a game?" Belle turned to look at him.

His face was serious when he turned to her. "No. It's _life_." She didn't know what to say to that and so let him work with Taz to put the sheep back where he wanted them. "Again," he said.

All together they ended up doing it about five times before Belle and Bandit got it right together. Bandit had a tendency to want to go too close to the sheep and Belle had a tendency to use the whistle just a hair too late. But with Gold behind her, guiding her, she was starting to be able to tell when Bandit was going to make the move to go closer and she was able to whistle for her to get out.

Gold had actually been impressed with the last outrun. Bandit had gone around right where she was supposed to and managed to lift the sheep and start them moving toward Belle. It wasn't perfect. It wasn't the amazing communication he and Taz had.

But it was a start.

From there, he had her practice the same on the right side and after two semi-successful outruns, had Bandit bring the group straight down to her. Up and back. Nothing more complicated than that. She felt quite accomplished, really. It wasn't much. It was simple. But they had come _so_ far.

"Release her," Gold said quietly after Bandit had driven the sheep almost right to their laps.

"That'll do," Belle said and immediately the dog relaxed and ran toward her, tongue lolling out of her mouth. Gold made his way over to the larger pen and released the sheep and together the group of them fled back up the hill.

Belle watched as they took off, feeling a little dismayed and Gold just grinned at her. "I'll get them this evening, as always." She continued to watch them for a moment and he remained there with her. Finally he spoke again. "Come Miss French…"

"Belle," she said softly, allowing a bit of an amused tone to enter her voice.

"Of course. Come along then, _Belle_. I believe you've earned the rest of the afternoon off."

She smiled at him and stepped closer to him and for a moment he looked almost _frightened_. And then she linked her arm through his. He froze. She pulled herself closer and look up at him, grin on her face.

"Come on Tavish. I think you deserve the afternoon off too." She saw him flinch at his given name.

"Didn't I tell you not to call me that?" he grumbled at her.

She laughed. "No, I don't think you did."

"Well, don't call me that."

"Whyever not?" She raised one eyebrow at him. "It's your name, isn't it?"

"Well, yes..." He paused and gave her a frustrated look. "But I'm your boss."

She just shook her head. "Aren't we a bit beyond that now?" She was skirting dangerously close to that elephant he didn't want to talk about. The look he gave her at that was desperate and she could see the plea in his eyes. _Don't talk about it. Don't bring it up. I can't face it_.

With a sigh she released his arm. "I'll see you back at the house." She strode off with Bandit at her side, leaving Gold to follow slowly behind her.

* * *

><p><em>Well, you screwed that one up old man<em>. But what choice did he have, really? He had thought about going to David Nolan, asking for advice, though he just couldn't quite manage it. He couldn't quite bring himself to admit that he had taken advantage of her.

No, it wasn't quite that.

She had kissed him back and had clearly wanted it as much as he did. He was sure of that the more times he went back in his mind to that moment.

That surprised him of course, but he was perhaps even _more_ surprised that _he_ wanted it like he did. He honestly couldn't remember the last time he had kissed a woman. Ten years at least, maybe longer. He had been divorced for eight, but his wife had left him long before then. Any sort of passion, and there had been admittedly little to start with, had long since gone by the wayside. Before he had the proof she was cheating right in front of him, he was _certain_ of it.

And so it had been a long time. A _very_ long time. He chalked up his inability to get the feel of Belle French in his arms, the feel of her hands tangled in his hair, out of his mind to that fact. He was not one for tender feelings. At least not about women. Treacherous creatures, all. Now dogs? Dogs he could trust. They gave you their loyalty and their love and never once betrayed you, didn't leave you for someone else. The only betrayal he'd ever had by dogs was their dying far too young. In a lot of ways, he still hadn't gotten over the death of his childhood dog. He had been the best of the best, though Taz certainly came close.

While Belle French seemed guileless, seemed like the type of woman who would never ever betray someone, he knew better.

_Bloody hell._

He really had to stay away from this woman. Perhaps he'd give her the evening off too.


	13. Chapter 13

Belle checked the mirror one last time before she headed toward the door. Gold had given her the night off. Not that she generally did much in the evening, but she had been cooking their meals, cleaning up after them, making sure he was settled. He was able to get upstairs on his own now, had been able to since…well…there was no use thinking about their one kiss. It had gone nowhere and she suspected from his lack of response and his clear lack of interest in pushing things further, that he felt it was a mistake.

She wasn't quite sure what she thought just yet.

Mistake? Maybe.

Or maybe something she had just really wanted.

She wasn't exactly lonely up there on the hill, but she did crave _some_ sort of connection. But she wasn't sure she wanted that with just anyone. Maybe it was just Gold that she wanted to connect with? He drew her in. Sarcastic commentary, morning crankiness, his insistence on fine teas and not coffee. He was an endearing pain in the ass, if she did say so herself. And one she had come to genuinely _like_, despite his rather forceful insistence that no one could like him.

She stepped into the living room to find Gold in his recliner, tumbler of Scotch already in hand and a newspaper spread out across his lap. He seemed so focused on it that she simply watched for a moment, hating to disturb him.

"Yes, Miss French?" he finally asked, not even bothering to look up from his paper.

"I'm going out…"

"I know," he responded with quickly.

"Did you need anything before I go?" She bit her lip and scrunched up her nose a bit with the words. She wasn't even sure she really _did_ want to go. She was happy enough to go out with Ruby and Ariel. She had been enjoying getting to know them so when Ruby found out she had the night off, well, hitting her favorite bar was rather high on her list of things she must get Belle to do.

She suspected it was not her sort of place, really. Belle preferred quiet coffee shops if she were to go out with people. But it was Ruby's call. She almost hoped Gold changed his mind and decided he needed her after all.

"I'm not an invalid," he shot back and finally looked up at her.

"I know," she answered softly.

And waited for him to say something.

For what felt like forever.

He watched her and she was almost sure the hand that reached for his tumbler trembled slightly.

"Tavish?" she said and he almost knocked the tumbler over.

"Just go," he snarled at her and she stepped back at the harsh words. "Go and have fun with your _friends_." He hissed the last word at her. "I'll be here." He waved a hand around himself. "_Right_ here, I'm sure…when you get back."

She inclined her head, watched him for a moment longer. "I'll just…be at The Rabbit Hole…if you need anything."

He didn't respond and so she turned, disappeared out the door. She knew it was the coward's way out, really. She _wanted_ to confront him, bring up their kiss, shout at him about his avoiding any mention of it. He wanted to go back to _Miss French_ and forget that anything had ever happened. _That_ much was obvious. But he couldn't. He had initiated it. Even if she had been the one to hug him, he had been the one who pulled her in for a kiss.

And now he was the one pretending it had never happened.

Well, for that night _she_ could pretend it never happened. Pretend _he_ never happened. Ruby was sure to see to that.

* * *

><p>"Another?" Ruby asked her. Belle glanced down at her glass. She wasn't drunk. Not yet. Though she felt a little tipsy from the few drinks Ruby had plied her with so far.<p>

_You need to forget about him_, Ruby had said and Belle had wondered how on Earth Ruby could be perceptive enough to know there was something even going on there.

_A girl knows_, she had said and Belle had been content to leave it at that. She didn't want to discuss her…well…whatever life it was. Love life certainly wasn't the correct term. She didn't love him. He didn't love her. But attraction? That was there in spades, deny it though he may want to.

"No, I don't think so," Belle finally managed to say. "I do have to drive home later. I should probably cut myself off."

Ruby nodded. "You can always stay at the inn," she pointed out. "Drink whatever you want, stumble back. Granny'll take good care of you."

Belle shook her head. "Gold would worry."

Ruby just raised one eyebrow. "Really, then."

"Well, I do live with the guy."

"What _is_ that all about anyway?" Ruby suddenly asked. "I mean, the guy is a miser. He likes _no one_. Yet out of nowhere he asks you to live with him. You're not…"

"No!" Belle said and the word was a bit more forceful than she intended. "It's not like that."

"Hmmm…"

"What is that for?"

"The lady doth protest too much?" Ruby asked and her grin said it all.

"It's not, Ruby. I swear. I think he's lonely…" Her voice trailed off on the last. Even now he was holed up alone in his house, probably on his second or third glass of Scotch, reading a newspaper or a book on history. He didn't even put the television on very often, as if the voices were too much for him. No, he was alone in the silence of his house. And he was lonely, even if he didn't quite realize it.

"You're falling in love with him," Ruby said on a gasp.

"Ruby," Belle warned.

"You _are_. That's the only explanation."

"For?"

"Belle, you have turned down _four_ guys who have come over here tonight. _Four_. Now look, I don't know what your dating life was like before you popped up in our little town, but that was four very eligible and very handsome men…"

"Did I hear something about being eligible and handsome?" The voice that came from behind the two surprised them and together they turned to face the man standing there. Belle almost groaned. It was a near-exact repeat of the other guys who had stopped by. He was tall, handsome in a sort of rugged way that screamed gym junkie. The exact kind of guy Belle avoided at all costs. Gaston, the guy she had dated so very briefly during college, was one of those. She had quickly learned that while he had clearly exercised the muscles of his body, he had _not_ bothered exercising his brain. _Dumb as a box of rocks_ was the phrase that came to mind.

"Why hello there, sailor," Ruby said, red lips pulling upward in a seductive smile.

The man scratched his head. "I'm a personal trainer."

"Close enough," Ruby said brightly.

But the man barely gave Ruby a glance. His attention was focused solely on Belle. "I'm Keith. Eligible _and_ handsome."

Belle fought hard not to roll her eyes. "Good for you."

The dismissive tone, the sarcasm, seemed to fly right over his head. "Can I buy you a drink?"

"No, sorry," Belle said, though she wasn't sorry at all and she was fairly certain that was obvious in her voice. "I'm done for the night."

Keith pressed in closer to her. "How about a dance then? I bet you bump and grind _real_ good."

"Seriously?" The word slipped out before she could even stop it. She glanced at Ruby and her friend quickly came to the rescue.

"Another time, tiger," she said as she rose and used her body to block the man and force him to back away a bit. "Belle's a bit tired."

"Belle?" he said. "That's your name?" He leaned around Ruby to stare at her. "I'll find you later." He winked at her, leering grin in place. And then he walked off. Well, stumbled off might be the better term. Keith was obviously a few sheets to the wind, something that made him even less appealing than his apparent love for himself.

"Number five!" Ruby said and took another sip of her cocktail.

"Did you _see_ him?" Belle hissed at her friend.

"Oh did I ever." Ruby gave a slight laugh. "Especially those biceps. Personal trainer." She fanned herself with her hand and gave a huge sigh.

"Not my type," Belle muttered.

"What _is_ your type then, Belle? Short, old, and cranky?"

The words stung. She wouldn't pretend they didn't. "Smart," Belle responded with. "Smart and well-read." She wanted to add that he wasn't old, but she knew that Ruby would pick up her rather mixed feelings for her boss and housemate.

"I'm sure _one_ of those men might have been." Belle wasn't so sure of that. "I mean, look at Ariel." Belle turned to follow the direction of Ruby's pointing. Ariel had started talking to a guy almost as soon as the trio had set foot in the bar. And even though he worked at the fish cannery and Ariel was a vegetarian, they seemed to be hitting it off. Currently the two were cozying it up together at a corner booth.

"Yes, well…" What else could she say to that, really? "Maybe I'm just not ready for someone, Ruby."

Ruby shook her head and the two fell into silence for a moment. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Keith hitting on some other woman who turned him down and his eyes strayed back to her.

"I think I'm just going to go," Belle finally said.

"Aww Belle…"

"You'll have better luck without me dragging you down." New friends and she still couldn't handle being out with them for more than a couple hours at a time. All she wanted at that moment was peace, quiet, and a good book. The pounding music, the crowded bar, it was all getting to her.

"Are you sure? The offer of the inn still stands."

"I'm sure. You go have fun. We'll catch up later." She reached out and squeezed her friend's shoulder and, slinging her purse over her shoulder, slipped out the door.

* * *

><p>"You just can't leave well enough alone, can you?" Gold glared at the other man. It was his evening <em>alone<em> and David Nolan was sure to see that was ruined.

"So you're just going to drink yourself into a stupor?" Nolan sounded incredulous, which might have been amusing if he didn't sound that way at least ninety percent of the time he spoke to him. It seemed that _everything_ surprised the younger man.

"That _was_ the plan, dearie." He reached for the tumbler only to find Nolan had pulled it away from him.

"Why?"

Gold's brow creased. "Why what?"

"Why do you need to get drunk?"

Gold narrowed his eyes on him. "What are you, Mormon?"

"What…"

"They don't drink, dearie. Oh nevermind. What is it you want, Mr. Nolan? You're sorely trying my patience." He made another attempt at grabbing the tumbler and was confronted instead with Nolan's grinning face.

"Where's Belle?"

"You're here for _her_?" He hated the way his voice sounded so grumpy at that, as if he would have been happy for Nolan to come see _him_.

"Mary Margaret wanted to see if she might be up for some babysitting sometime…"

"Hard up, are we?" He said the last with a light laugh.

"Well…no?"

"You must be. The girl is as likely to drop the babe as she is take care of him." There was one thing that Belle French was good at and that was making a disaster of things. _Everything_ really. She had come into his life all sweetness and light and had taken a bloody wrecking ball to it. He had landed back in the hospital, had kissed the infernal girl, and now couldn't bloody well stop thinking about her.

At David's confused look, Gold let out a snort and tapped his injured foot with his cane.

"Oh…right…" He stared at Gold for a moment before, head slightly cocked. "How was that her fault again?"

"Oh, she hasn't told you the story?" His time in the hospital was a bit of a haze, but he thought that David knew.

"You were the one who chose to catch her," Nolan pointed out.

"Indeed I was. But she was the one who chose to do something stupid."

"Only because you didn't tell her there was an easier way."

Gold crossed his arms over his chest. "Fine." Another pause, his anger simmering just below the surface. "As Belle is not here, it seems your visit is not needed."

"So where is she?"

"Really, now…"

"Where…"

"I believe she went to some place called 'The Rabbit Hole' with her friends." He waved a hand dismissively in the air. "Perhaps you can find her there."

Nolan cursed.

Gold couldn't remember the last time that Nolan had ever cursed in front of him. It was fascinating, really. Nolan was _nice_. He was mild-mannered. Nothing ruffled his feathers, not even Gold's sarcastic comments and sometimes downright nastiness.

"Is there something wrong, Mr. Nolan?"

"You've never heard of the place?" He watched as the other man shook his head, ran his fingers through his hair.

"Clearly not."

"It's some sort of dive bar. Pretty rough place. Why would she go there?"

Gold shrugged. "Her friends wanted to, I suppose?"

"You do know she's not from around here, right?" The man was starting to sound exasperated.

"Of course. She's from Australia." He cocked his head slight to the side. "What exactly are you getting at?" And then a pause. "Should I be worried?" He tried to sound nonchalant with those last words but the grin on Nolan's face told him he knew otherwise.

"Now we're talking. I _knew_ you cared about her, old man."

"Watch who you're calling _old_, Mr. Nolan," he growled back at him.

"You're not denying it."

"I have nothing to deny," he said with a slight wave of his hand.

"Then you _know_ you care for her." Another grin. He was afraid if he didn't say anything else, Nolan would clap him on the back and tell him _Go get her tiger_.

"That is neither here nor there." Gold managed to draw himself to his feet, leaned heavily on his cane. "It seems we have a damsel to rescue…again."

* * *

><p>She hadn't gotten more than about ten feet out of the bar when she heard a small scuffling noise come from behind her. Turning quickly, she peered into the shadows and finally saw Keith standing there.<p>

When she noticed him, he stepped out of the shadows, closer to her. She wanted to back up a pace, put more distance between them, but she didn't want to show any fear. She wasn't afraid of him, exactly. Though he did make her very nervous. At only five foot two, the large man simply dwarfed her. "I thought maybe we could get a chance to talk without your friend around."

She shook her head. "I'm sorry, but I'm actually headed home." She tried to at least _look_ apologetic, even if she didn't feel that way.

"Oh come now," Keith said and took another step toward her. "It's still early yet. Surely you won't turn into a pumpkin if you don't get home by midnight?"

"The carriage," she muttered.

"What?"

"The _carriage_ turns into a pumpkin. Not Cinderella." She looked away on the last words. She was even _more_ sure now than before that he wasn't her type. Such as simple thing, really. Gold would have known it was the carriage.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" Keith sounded _angry_ and Belle felt a small flutter somewhere inside her. Fear, she realized. She was alone outside the business, in the alley that led to the parking lot. Alone with a man who was over a foot taller than her and probably had at least a hundred pounds of weight on her. Alone with a man who had had far too much to drink and thought far too highly of himself to think someone could actually turn him down.

"Nothing. I'm just tired." She tried to step around him, but he blocked her path. "Will you please just let me get to my car?"

"Nah," he answered with, putting one hand on the wall and leaning closer to her. Belle _did _take a step back this time. Then another. "Why don't you come back inside and have a drink with me?" His breath smelled like stale liquor, like he had been drinking for hours before this moment.

"Thank you, but no," she reiterated. "Now will you let me get to my car?" She should turn and run, go back into the bar, get Ruby. Something. Anything.

She took yet another step back.

Keith closed the space between them and his hand came up to touch her hair.

"Please stop," Belle muttered and flinched away. "I just need to get home." Need, want. It didn't matter anymore. She had to get away, anywhere really. Back into The Rabbit Hole perhaps, to the safety of her car. Belle gripped her purse hard as Keith yanked at her hair to pull her closer to him. Without even thinking what she was doing, she hauled off and hit him hard in the side of the face with it.

Stunned, Keith let go of her and stepped back. Belle burst past him. Her car. If she could just reach her car.

Her keys were in her hand.

She could see the car up ahead.

She swore to never ever go out alone and never ever wear heels again if she could _just_ get to that car and get to safety.

"You bitch!" She heard the words before she felt the hand that grabbed her hair and jerked her back. "Did you think you could just do that and run?" Keith pulled her around forcefully, using all of his body weight to slam her hard into the wall of the alley.

Her breath left her in a startled gasp.

The keys and the purse hit the ground as her hands came up to fend him off.

"You just gotta give me a chance." He reached around, grabbed her neck, pulled her close to him. "I'll make it good for you, baby. I swear."

Belle tried to pull back, but the grip of his hand on the back of her neck was too strong. She pushed at his chest. "No. Please no. Just leave me alone." She couldn't move him though and his lips came down on hers, messy and wet and absolutely reeking of alcohol and garlic.

She tried to pull away.

But he was too big.

Too frightening.

Too…

"I believe the lady said _no_." She barely registered the voice, calm and cool and collected, before she heard the sharp sound of _something_ colliding with something much larger and Keith let out a shout before shoving her away and backing up.

"This is none of your damned business," he said as he turned to face the person who had spoken.

Belle stood slightly bent over, hand to her mouth, trying not to vomit, as Gold stepped out of the shadows. "I believe that it is, dearie."

He sounded dangerous, his voice low and silky.

"She ain't your girlfriend," Keith said and Belle wanted to kick him. Hard.

"Perhaps not," Gold answered, still with that deadly calm tone. "But that doesn't matter. No does, after all, mean _no_. Or has no one ever taught you that?"

Keith took a step toward him. "Back off old man." He took a couple more steps toward Gold. He was standing close in front of him when he next spoke. "If you want a piece of her, you're going to have to wait your turn."

Belle was frozen to the spot as she watched Keith raise his hand, the intention to strike his much smaller opponent clear.

But he had no time to do that. Gold swung his cane in a fast arc and hit Keith hard on the hand. The bigger man let out a hiss of pain and clutched his hand close to his body as he rushed Gold. She felt like she couldn't breathe. Keith was huge, well over six feet and built like a linebacker. Gold was small, slight, and still injured.

Gold picked up his cane again and this time when he hit Keith with it, a direct blow to the side of the man's head, he felled him like the big ox he was. Keith landed hard on his knees and Gold was on him in a second.

Another blow landed on his back, a second one quickly following. Keith howled in pain, bent over, face to the ground with his arms up protecting his head and neck.

And still the blows continued. Gold's face had gone from calm and collected to fierce. His teeth were bared in a snarl and he was shouting words that were entirely incoherent.

After two more blows, Belle finally found herself unfreezing. "Stop!" she shouted and grabbed Gold's right wrist, pulled it back. In the silence that followed that moment, she could hear Gold's harsh breathing, Keith's moans, her own heartbeat loud in her ears. "You're going to kill him."

"He deserves that much." Gold's voice was laced with darkness, his arm strained against the hold she had on him.

"Tavish…_please_." He tried to pull forward once more, hit the resistance of her hand with its tight grip. "He's not worth it." And then the fight went out of him. She felt him slump forward, like a doll whose strings had been cut.

Belle shuddered as she released him, wrapping her arms around herself. She felt cold, shivering, her heart was racing and her whole body felt heavy. Gold stood, using the cane to leverage himself to his feet, and turned to her. "Belle," he whispered and she was sure it was the first time he had voluntarily used her name. He reached out, pulled her to him, wrapped his arms around her.

But she couldn't bring herself to do the same and he finally backed off. Her arms wrapped tighter around herself. "Are you alright?" Gold managed to ask and his voice was tight.

"I…I think so. I'm not hurt. He didn't hurt me." She glanced down at Keith, who was trying to slink away from them. Gold followed her gaze and set his cane down in front of him.

"Not so fast, dearie. I do believe you'll need to be having a conversation with the police on this little…_situation_." He sneered the last at him as he leaned down.

"Tavish," she murmured.

He watched her for a moment. "I should get you home."

"No," she said and held her hand up in front of her, stopping him before he could get any closer. He had _saved_ her. That much she was sure of. If he hadn't shown up she could well imagine what would have happened to her at Keith's hands. Gold's showing up, and she didn't even know _why_ he was there and wasn't that just something she needed to talk to him about, had stopped Keith.

But he had almost killed him.

Almost taken the life of a man who probably had a good eighty pounds on him. He was small and fierce and he had _frightened_ her.

"Belle?"

"I need Ruby," she said and hated the way her voice shook.

"Where is she?"

"Bar..." She felt faint, leaned up against the wall. She had to get away. From Keith. From Gold. From the whole damned thing.

Gold stepped closer and held out an arm. "Come on…I'll get you to her…"

"No," Belle said. "No just…leave me alone. Take care of…this…" She waved a hand at Keith and then stepped back from him, turned to walk away.

"Are you coming home?" His voice sounded small, especially after the snarling incoherency of minutes ago, but she couldn't make herself turn to look at him at that moment.

"No," she whispered. "No I don't think so." And then she disappeared back into the noisy crowd of the bar to find Ruby.


	14. Chapter 14

"What did you do?"

Nolan. He had forgotten he had arrived with Nolan, the younger man shoving him into his truck and driving at a rather mad pace down the hills to get to the bar. He had been out of the truck almost before Nolan had stopped it, had been heading into the bar when he heard the sound of voices in the alleyway.

He couldn't really say what drew him there. Maybe it was that the woman sounded slightly frantic, the man's voice slurred and his words almost not understandable. Maybe it was that some part of him recognized the voice and knew Belle was in trouble.

When he had turned the corner and saw the big lout grab Belle by the neck and force her into a kiss with him, his vision had dimmed, the corners turning black and red.

He barely remembered what happened after that. He came to with Belle's hand on his arm and the bastard crawling about on the ground at his feet. His cane was raised and he realized that his right ankle hurt like a bitch and the handle of his cane had blood on it.

"Apparently I beat him half to death." Gold's voice was grim as he looked down at the man at his feet.

"Who is he?"

Gold shook his head. "I have no bloody idea, but he was attacking Belle…"

"Belle? Where is she?" Nolan looked alarmed, glanced around the alleyway as if he expected to find her dead at the man's side.

"She's gone back into the bar to find her friend Ruby."

"Ruby, good," Nolan said. "Why didn't you go with her?" And his voice sounded rather self-righteously accusatory.

"She…um…" He held up the cane.

"She didn't want to have anything to do with you," Nolan surmised.

"Exactly."

"But you saved her," he pointed out.

"Again," Gold said, his face set in a grim look. "But it seems that seeing my sort of rescue attempt was perhaps a bit too much for her." As it should have been, he knew. Belle was gentle. She was kind. She was not the sort of woman who would want her attacker killed. She would want justice done in the right way, not by a vigilante with a cane whose anger got the better of him.

She knew who he was now.

No wonder she had run for the hills.

* * *

><p>Belle woke and for a moment she wasn't sure where she was. It was disorienting, that waking up in the dark and feeling like you're not where you're supposed to be. Something in the room seems off, the furniture not where you expect it. She rolled and dug out her phone and let it half-light up the room around her.<p>

The Inn.

She was staying at Granny's Bed and Breakfast.

The night before came back to her suddenly and she shivered, though she was quite warm. She had known there was some sort of darkness to Gold. She could see it in his eyes, in the way he interacted with the world, in the way he closed himself off from everyone. There were layers there that she was sometimes afraid to get too deep into.

Last night she found one.

He had nearly beaten that man to death.

And it wasn't about Keith. Not really, at least. The man was abhorrent, a scourge. If Gold hadn't appeared when he did, Keith would have overpowered her easily and then where would she be? Weeping alone in an alleyway after he finished what he started.

Gold had saved her. Again. There was no doubt about that. He had swooped in like some sort of dark Prince Charming and had protected her with a fierceness she never could have expected.

But sometime during his protecting her, a switch had flipped. She had seen the moment it happened, the way his eyes turned dark, the way his snarling turned to a feral grin. And he had gone from simply protecting her to being out for blood. He had wanted to _kill_ that man.

And he would have.

She knew that much.

But somehow she had been able to stop him.

That look in his eyes though. It had haunted her dreams, her nightmares. The Gold she had been getting to know, the Gold who had kissed her in his library, was sarcastic, sometimes rude, but _always _gentle with her.

The Gold she saw last night had been pushed over the edge and it frightened her. She could admit that much to herself, couldn't she? It had scared her so much that the thought of spending the night under the same roof with him was not something she could handle at that moment

She had gone in to find Ruby to take her up on her offer of staying at the inn. One look at Belle and Ruby _knew_ something had gone on. Without even questioning her, she had brought her back to the inn, had gotten her a key. Belle hadn't wanted to talk about it and so she was thankful that her new friend seemed to be rather intuitive. Ruby had left her, making sure she would be ok, and told her she would check up on her in the morning.

Belle had _almost_ asked her to stay in the room with her. She wasn't sure she wanted to be alone, but decided there was an awkwardness there she wasn't ready for. And so Ruby had left and Belle had climbed into the shower to scrub herself clean.

She had stayed in the shower until the hot water had all but run out, until her skin felt raw and tender from her need to practically flay it from her bones. She brushed her teeth three times that night and still she couldn't get that horrible taste of garlic and alcohol out of her mouth.

When she crawled into bed, it was Gold's face, screwed up in hate and anger, that she couldn't block out. Sleep had been hard to come by that night and she had woken up several times from nightmares where she couldn't get away from Keith, where Gold had turned in his bloodlust on her, where she had been running and couldn't escape, chased down, hunted like an animal.

Ruby called at exactly 8:00am that morning and though the phone ringing set her teeth on edge, Belle grabbed it and picked it up. It could have been Gold, she knew, but somehow she didn't think he'd bother to call. She had _seen_ the look on his face when she left him last night, the way his eyes had shuttered and looked almost dead.

She had left him there to clean up whatever mess he had made.

It was unfair.

She knew it was.

He had saved her and she shouldn't forget that. But it was not easy to when she had also seen the bloodlust behind it all.

"Belle, you there?" Ruby sounded worried.

"What? Yeah…sorry. Just thinking I guess." Thinking about what to do, about where to go from there.

"Why don't you come down to the diner for breakfast? My treat."

Belle nodded, then realized that Ruby couldn't see the small head movement. "Right. Ok. I can do that. Just…give me a little bit?"

"Sure thing." She paused there but didn't hang up the phone. "I just wanted to make sure you're ok. After…things."

Belle sighed. "I'm fine. I think. I'll see you down at the diner in a bit."

Was she fine? Belle couldn't be certain. But she got herself together, took another shower, dried her hair as best she could, and got dressed in the clothes Ruby had left for her. They were warm, comfortable, a bit large on her, but Ruby was a head taller than Belle's rather diminutive height. She even did her makeup before trekking down to the diner. It was her armor against the world. She didn't look like the girl who did chores on Gold's farm. She looked Belle French.

And today she would put on a smile that told the world they could mind their own damned business.

Of course, that crumbled as soon as she saw Ruby behind the counter and Ariel sitting at one of the stools. "Belle!" Ariel cried out and rushed to her, enveloping her in a hug. "Ruby told me what happened."

Belle glanced at Ruby for a moment. "All of it?"

"Most," she responded with.

"I'm so sorry I abandoned you guys."

"No," Belle said, holding up a hand. "Never apologize for going after what, or _who_ you want."

Ariel gave her a slightly watery smile. "Eric _was_ great."

"Then good. I'm glad for you." Belle reached a hand out, squeezed Ariel's. "Honestly."

"Do you need anything today?" Ariel asked and thank God for people like her. She was sweet and kind and guileless. She would probably take the whole day off from the library if Belle asked her to. Which was exactly why she couldn't ask her.

"No…really. Thank you. I think I'll go visit my father." She had been told he was doing fairly well and a visit would be in order. It seemed there were less of those days than not lately. And her father was a proud man. He didn't want her to see him when he was brought low, when he was just a shell of himself.

She had promised.

No visits on bad days. She could talk to him on the phone, listen to his tired voice and hear the report from the nurses. But he would _not_ have her see him like that no matter how many times she begged.

"You're coming back here afterward?" Ruby's question almost sounded more like a statement.

"I think so, yes." Her stuff was still up at Gold's. She really didn't know how to deal with that. "I need to get my stuff."

"I'll send David," Ruby responded with and Belle just nodded. Did she really _want_ to move out of Gold's? Back to the inn? Try to find some other employment?

She really wasn't sure yet. There was so much to think about, so many thoughts swirling around in her mind. Of the Gold she thought she knew. Of the Gold she had seen the night before. She didn't think he would harm her, but the fact that he would have killed a man, no matter how truly awful that man _was_, gave her pause.

She had a lot of decisions to make.

And she wasn't quite sure she was ready to make them.

* * *

><p>"Papa." Belle rushed into the room and reached out, squeezed his hand. Her father had been a large man in his prime, taller than Belle by almost a foot and larger than life. She always remembered that about him. When she had been a small child, motherless and feeling awfully alone, her father had seemed massive. And when he laughed, everyone laughed with him. He was jovial and kind.<p>

His hand in hers felt frail, but he still managed to squeeze hers with some bit of strength. "My Belle." His voice was a little hoarse and she smiled, tried to hide the tears that always pricked at the back of her eyes when she visited.

"The nurses say you're feeling better today."

"So I am, my dear. So I am." His eyes closed for a moment and then he managed to focus on her.

"Good. I'm so glad." She finally released his hand to touch the side of his face lightly. "I don't know what I'd do without you Papa."

"You'd do plenty, my Belle. You'd get out of here and get on with your life." He coughed once, twice, and then took a deep breath. "Maybe you'd be better off…"

"Don't talk like that." She didn't mean to snap at him, to cut him off like that, but she didn't want the conversation to go there. She knew she was losing him. Little by little. There was only so many treatments they could do, only so many experiments and new drugs. He had held on this long, months longer than most with his type of cancer, but she still knew it was only a matter of time before she had to say goodbye.

She was sure she'd never be ready for that.

She'd be alone then, truly alone. Her mother had died when she was just a child. She had no siblings. Distant relatives still lived in Australia and she had had little contact with them over the years. In a new place with friends who she was only getting to know and a…well…whatever exactly Gold was to her…boss?...teacher?...maybe something more, though that might be getting a bit ahead of herself.

"Then let's talk about you, my dear." And there was a bit of the jovial father she knew so well in his voice.

"I'm making friends." She knew her father worried about that. Belle was rather introverted and had spent much of her time growing up and throughout college with her books. She was much like her mother that way, he had told her, always wrapped up in a story and forgetting about the world around her. Her father was the opposite. Gregarious and extroverted, he had always enjoyed being around people, gathering strength from them instead of finding them exhausting.

"Good. That's good. And your job?"

She bit her lip and looked away from him. "I fear I may have lost that." She couldn't imagine Gold wanting her back at this point. And to be honest, she wasn't sure if _she_ wanted to go back right now.

Her father was silent for a time and when he finally spoke his voice sounded tight. "I've heard things about him, Belle." Her head shot up. "The nurses, they say things."

Belle sighed. "He's not as bad as all that."

"No?"

"No. I think they've created stories about him because he sits up on his hill and rarely interacts with anyone."

"So he's not a right bastard then?"

Belle let out a small laugh. "Oh no, he is. Or he can be at times. But he can also be really kind." She was going to put the word gentle in there, but then the image of him wielding his cane as a weapon, of his pummeling a man halfway to death, came into her mind and she choked the word down. He _had_ been gentle with her, with the dogs.

But then there was last night. And all that entailed.

"Papa, I'm afraid something awful has happened." She felt the tears starting to choke her voice as she leaned over and touched his hand.

"You didn't fall in love with him, did you?"

"What? No." No, she didn't love him. She liked him. And she was attracted to him. And she still couldn't stop thinking about that kiss. But love? She wasn't even sure she knew what love _was_ at this point. "I went to a bar last night…"

She hadn't planned to do it. She was going to remain cheerful and upbeat and not do anything to bring her father down. He didn't _need_ to be brought down. But she couldn't stop herself. She watched his jaw clench when she told him about Keith's attack in the alleyway. She saw him consider speaking when she told him about Gold's arrival, like some sort of dark angel with a cane.

"Sounds to me like he saved you, my girl," her father pointed out.

"But at what cost? He beat that man nearly to death, Papa. And worst of all I don't even know what became of him. I left. For all I know he died in that alley with Gold standing over him, gloating." That was, perhaps, the truth of it. She hadn't cared about Keith, not really. He was a disgusting excuse for a human being and when she left, she hadn't really cared if he lived or died.

It was because Gold had inflicted those injuries. And she didn't even know how. He was a head shorter than the man, probably weighed a good eighty pounds less than him and still he was so fierce that he had taken him out in no time. The thought of watching a man's life drain from him made her want to vomit.

"Are you afraid of him?"

Her father always _could_ get to the heart of things. "I don't know."

He nodded. "I think that's something you need to figure out."

* * *

><p>Belle didn't return to the diner after her visit with her father. There was much to think about. Too much, really. Her father had hit a sore spot right there. <em>Was<em> she afraid of Gold? She didn't think so. She honestly didn't think he would hurt her.

He hadn't, after all, when she had broken his cup or when she had fallen from the ladder and injured him. He hadn't when she had made mistakes with Bandit. He hadn't ever really seemed to be angry with her. Just amused and exasperated. Even at his grumpiest, recently injured and back from the hospital, looped up on painkillers, he hadn't done much more than snap at her.

Not even when she hid his whisky, which she had finally given back to him when she got him to show her the empty pain medication bottle and the words "NO REFILL" written at the bottom.

Oh, he had been annoyed. But he had done nothing more than complain and shoot her dark looks. Both of which she easily handled with a smile and a comment shot back his way.

She didn't even know how long she had walked before she found herself standing in front of the town hall. The sheriff had his office there and she realized she wanted to know. Was the man locked up? Still loose? Or was he dead?

Bracing herself, she opened the door and found her way into the office. There were only two cells there, hidden somewhere in the back and while she could see _someone_ in there, she wasn't sure who it was.

"Can I help you?" The voice that came to her ears had a certain lilt to it, similar to Gold's and yet different. She turned to find a man studying her, the badge on his jacket proclaiming him sheriff.

"Irish?" she asked, realizing she recognized the accent.

"Sheriff Graham, at your service, Miss…"

"French. Belle French. I'm new to town."

"And from as far away as I am, it seems," he said and his smile was a good natured one. He had the kind of face that one trusted almost instantly. Handsome, but not in a pretentious way. Down to earth and natural.

"Australia. But that's not why I'm here." She didn't even know where to start. _Gee, you don't have a man here who was beaten half to death last night, do you?_

"Yes?" Kind and patient, apparently. Belle found herself smiling at him.

"Last night there was an…altercation…outside The Rabbit Hole…" Her voice trailed off as she saw recognition on her face.

"Yes." He said no more.

"There was a man…Keith, he said his name was. He assaulted me."

"He assaulted you?" He sounded slightly incredulous.

"Yes."

"Were you the one who…"

"No," she said quickly. "He tried…" She closed her eyes, took a deep breath. "He tried to rape me. Someone saved me."

Graham held up a hand and picked up a notepad. "Do you need to make a statement?"

"Can you tell me if he's ok?"

Graham's eyebrows furrowed. "Your savior?"

She shook her head. "My assailant."

"Just what exactly happened last night, Miss French?"

Belle sighed. "Is this on the record?" This wasn't what she wanted. She didn't want to get involved in an investigation. She just wanted to know if he was alive.

"It doesn't have to be…" His voice trailed off.

"But you want it to be." It was a statement, not a question.

"He tried to rape you, Miss. In all honesty, _yes_ this should be on the record."

She took a deep breath and nodded. The words came out in a rush, a half told story of an attempted rape and the beating that followed. Her departure. She left out how scared she was. Not only of Keith, though that should be obvious, but also of Gold and the black rage he had fallen into.

"Who was this savior?"

"I can't tell you."

"We'll be able to get the video," Graham pointed out.

"Gold," she said quietly.

"Mr. Gold from up on the hill?" He sounded surprised and there was that much to keep her buoyed at least. She fully expected everyone she met to not be shocked at all.

"The same. I work for him, you see. And I have no idea why he was there." Why _was_ he there anyway? That question had never been answered. Hell, it had never even been _posed_. He had simply appeared out of thin air and taken care of the problem. "But there he was and he stopped him, but then…" She didn't want to go on, didn't want to detail the vicious beating he had delivered to the man.

"That's pretty impressive," Graham said and Belle just stared at him. "Well, Gold's a pretty small guy. And Nottingham is not."

"Nottingham? That's his last name?" She didn't know. She didn't know if she _wanted_ to know. "What happened to him?"

"He's alive." Graham hooked a thumb over his shoulder to the lump of man sleeping on the cot in one of the cells. Belle felt the breath go out of her at finding out he was alive, that Gold hadn't done that serious of damage to him. "He had a couple broken bones. A lot of bruises. The hospital fixed him up and he was brought back here."

"You arrested him."

"David Nolan made a report."

"David?" She hadn't seen any sign of the man that night. But her brain was fuzzy, tipsy with alcohol and half frozen with fear. She might have walked right past him without realizing it.

He nodded. "I couldn't quite figure out his involvement before. He said he saw the end of the attack, saw him collapse. And so he called it in."

But he had brought Gold there, she realized. She didn't know how or why, but David had been the one to bring Gold to her and Gold had been the one to save her. The night was still such a blur that she couldn't even put the pieces of the puzzle together.

"Thank you," she finally managed to say. "I just needed to make sure."

"We'll contact you if we need you for anything further."

She nodded. "I'm staying at the inn."

With those words she took leave of Graham and the sheriff's office. She had more questions than answers it seemed, but she had at least nailed the answer to _one_ question down. No, she was not afraid of him.

But there were still many more to answer and many decisions to be made, decisions she didn't feel like she could even begin to tackle before she had a meal and a hot shower.


End file.
